Fight For Survival
by evil superman
Summary: A memeber of the Atlantis expedition finds themself thrust into a vicious world of kill or be killed and has to fight for their very survival. Finshed with alternate ending added.
1. Captured

Title: Fight For Survival

Summary: A memeber of the Atlantis expedition finds themself thrust into a vicious world of kill or be killed and has to fight for their very survival.

Paring: None.

Spoilers: Probably won't be any, but anything from season one is fair game.

Warnings: Semi-character death, Language, Violence, and Torture scenes are the huge ones. If anything else comes up I'll list it on the chapter it's in.

Disclaimer: Stargate Atlantis is not mine. Only the story line and any made up characters that may appear in the story belong to me.

A/N: This is a definite WIP so updates probably won't be very regular, but I do promise to try and at least post once a week if not more. This is my first M rated story so I don't know how well this will work, but my muse is in a wumping mood so I figured I'd give it a shot.

Not Betaed

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God it was cold, he could feel the cold seeping into his bones, even through his coat, gloves, and boots. If sombody had told him it was going to get this cold at night on this damn planet he would have said hell no to the mission and asked for the next planet on the list, but did anyone think to tell him? No of course not why would they care if he hated the cold with a passion? Give him nice sunny warm weather any day; not overly bright or hot, just a mild warmth that lazily caressed his skin. 

He sighed and ducked his head, blowing on his numb hands in an attempt to warm them. Listening to the sharp sound of leaves and twigs crunching under his boots he passed by the fire, which offered little relief from the cold, merely light to see by. He stayed near the fire for a moment, looking around the camp. The camp was deserted, the others were already tucked away in bed, a lot warmer than he was at the moment. Still, a wave of unease flooded his body, making his pulse race and the hair on the back of his neck stand on end. It wasn't fear, not quite, just wariness, uncertainty, anxiety.

He shook his head, telling himself that he was being ridiculous, as far as anyone could tell this planet was deserted. Moving away from the fire, he stepped into the shadows of the night and continued walking the perimeter of camp. Even if someone did attack him - which was highly unlikely because nobody would be stupid enough to be out in this cold unless they had no choice - he was more than capable of dealing with them and if not his team was only a shout away. He was being foolish and he knew he should stop wasting time thinking about all the bad things that could go wrong, but something just kept nagging at the back of his mind.

The attack came out of nowhere. Only his quick reflexes and extensive combat training kept him from being gutted, but the reaction cost him his gun. Twisting around to his right, he turned around to face the attacker, or rather, attackers. He couldn't be sure exactly how many there were, they seemed to blend into the shadows until their bodies meshed together into one solid shadow filled with the glinting of knives.

Raising his fists, he fell back into a defensive position and waited for them to come to him. He knew it would be stupid to go to them, he would lose. But if he let them come to him, he had a better chance of getting out of this alive. He briefly debated calling out to his teammates for help, but decided against it. From the way his attackers were focused on him there was a good chance they didn't know about the others and he didn't want to risk them getting hurt if he didn't have to.

Three rushed him at once, two holding knives, the third holding a blunt object of somekind. He brushed the blunt object aside, dropping down to sweep the attacker's legs out from under him. The attacker fell with a heavy thud, a groan spilling from the his lips, but he ignored it, already back on his feet and fighting the next man. Jumping back to dodge the knife, he delivered a sharp right hook, followed by an uppercut, and then knee-capped his opponet. The second attacker joined his friend on the ground, and he turned to face the last attacker.

The last attacker was faster than the other two, and his knife managed to make contact, taking a small chunk out of his side. The pain was sharp and immediate, small needles of pain spreading from the injury. He felt a thick, warm liquid form and drip down his side, warmer than normal because of his cold skin, but he ignored it. He raised an arm, brushing away the fist aimed at his head, and executed a textbook snap-kick, his booted foot connecting with the other's jaw. The attacker stumbled backwards, but didn't go down.

The other two men, he assumed they were men but they might have been tall, broad-shouldered and muscular women - boy would he get a load full if they were women and he got his ass kicked - rushed him, their weapons raised.

He tried to defend himself, his body moving flawlessly despite the cold. He punched, kicked, dodged, danced, but in the end, all it took was one lucky hit to the head to stop him cold. The punch split open his eyebrow. In the split-second it took to wipe the warm blood dripping into his eye away his feet were swept out from under him, and someone else pressed the cold barrel of a gun - _his_ _gun _- against his temple.

He stared up at them from the ground, not moving, but glaring with everything he had, how dare the bastards use his own weapon against him. His body was tense as he waited for the punches, the kicks, the pain, to come but it never did. Instead, he was rolled over onto his stomach, someone pressing their knee down on his back another holding his shoulders to make sure he didn't move. Pain shot through his side from the stab wound, but he didn't cry out, he wouldn't give them the satisfaction.

The feel of something cold wrapping around his wrists caused him to twich. He frowned, wondering what was happening and knowing that it wasn't going to be good. The last thing he remembered thinking before they beat him unconscious was how stupid he'd been for not calling out to his team for help.

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Alright there's the first chapter please review and let me know if I should continue. I have a basic idea about what will happen in this story I just have to get it worked out on paper. 


	2. New Life

The food bar tasted like cardboard and was as hard as rock, the water wasn't much better it tasted, and smelled, like mouldy fruit, but he ate it all anyway. It was the only meal he got each day, and since he hadn't fought in a few days, there was a good chance that he would be chosen to fight tonight, so he needed to eat. He, and a couple of others, had been given an apple like fruit as a special treat with their meal. Nibbling at his apple he looked around his cell.

The walls were brick, covered in some form of rock or clay. Whatever the coating was, it wasn't very hard, he'd been able to carve lines in it to keep track of the days using a small chunk of rock he'd pried off the wall. According to the scratches he'd been in the cell for almost two months - he'd been injured for the first few days, too confused and lost, to think clearly so the exact number was unknown to anyone except the guards and fight bosses.

In those months he'd fought nearly 16 times and from what the other fighters - the other prisoners - said this was a record. The highest amount of fights anyone had ever survived before him was 10, and that had been over the span of several months. According to them, the crowd liked him, they kept requesting to see the 'Lantean fight, so the fight bosses kept putting him in The Pit.

Sometimes he thought about losing on purpose, about letting his opponent win. Death had to be better than this agonising hell. But in the end, he couldn't do it, his pride, honour, some spark of hope that the others would come that they would find him, all kept him from fighting at anything but his best. So fight after fight, he came out the winner. For each win he was given a night of luxury - a shower, a warm meal, some bandages and clean water for his injuries, maybe a suture kit if needed, and once, after a particularly good fight that had earned the fight bosses a lot of money, they had gave him a thin mattress to sleep on.

Then when the sun came up, the comforts would be taken away. He would be back to his pathetic excuse for food and the cold floor to sleep on. They didn't want their best fighter to die anywhere but The Pit, so they allowed him to keep his wounds bandaged, and if there was any hint of infection, he would be examined by their doctor who only gave the absolute minimal care required to keep the fighter alive.

Thanks to his new diet, his lean, lightly muscled body had become merely thin, not weak, he still exercised, but thin. He could already count three ribs, and almost feel a fourth. His hair, normally clean and shiny, was now lank and slightly greasy, hanging around his face in shaggy clumps where it had started growing out. There were no brushes or combs, and when he was allowed a shower, he was only given a small amount of cheap, soap to wash it and his body with. His cheeks were sunken, they, like his collarbones, too pronounced, almost as if they were ready to burst free of the skin covering them.

There was a scar bisecting his eyebrow, from the night he'd been captured, a small scar that had only required a couple of butterfly stitches at the time. Other than that, he had been relatively lucky only a small scar on his side, a thin scar on his thigh, and a long, thick scar across his back were the only other imperfections. That scar on his back was one of the oldest, from his very first fight, at the time he hadn't wanted to kill his opponent. He'd stayed on the defensive, trying to talk his way out of the situation. Eventually he he was forced to kill the young man, but had mourned the death for days.

It was another four fights before he finally realised just what kind of life he was being forced to live, and from that day on he tried to kill his opponent as quickly, and as painlessly as possible. Keeping the fights short and as painless as possible, was his main goal when in The Pit, that and staying alive.

Heavy booted footsteps made him open his eyes, not realizing he'd closed them. He watched, half hidden in the shadows, as the guard came into view. His name was Keeshaw and he was one of the more sadistic guards, and it was never nice to see him. He stopped in front of his cell, leering at him from the other side of the bars. One meaty hand caressed the stun baton at his hip, the other gripped one of the hard iron bars.

He waited silently, not moving, not blinking, and was surprised when Keeshaw stepped back and continued walking. He frowned and quietly got to his feet, stalking to the bars. Pressing himself against the wall he listened. He heard Keeshaw continue down past more cells, heard him stop once or twice only to move on, until he reached the end of the corridor and opened the cell, but he had counted and knew that, that one was empty. That meant there was a new fighter coming. He wondered who it was, wondered how long they would last and wondered if he'd be the one to kill them.

He heard two more pairs of footsteps, accompanied by a soft, dragging sound, and looked to his right to watch the two other guards carry the new fighter to her cell. He couldn't see much of the girl, aside from her auburn hair and scrawny build, but from what he could see this girl wasn't going to adjust very well, he could tell that immediately.

Everyone waited for the guards to leave before they started to whisper, keeping their voices soft, so that only the people in the cells surrounding them could hear. He didn't participate in the round of bets being placed, never saw the point. The other fighters placed bets on the newbies to keep themselves occupied, to give themselves something to think about, but for him, that wasn't necessary; he had adapted to his new life.

He was a fighter, a killer, a source of entertainment for a bunch of sadistic bastards he didn't even know. He knew it, he didn't have to like it, but he knew it and accepted it. There wasn't anything that could change it.

* * *

The Pit was around twenty feet in diameter, sunken into the ground so that the crowd could watch from above. The top of the dome-shaped cage just came up to the railing on the lowest tier, meaning that if they wanted to, the crowd could touch the heavy metal bars, maybe even throw something through the holes but high enough up that none of the fighters could attack the crowd. The dirt floor was permanently stained with blood, bodily fluids, and thicker things. Fights were messy, and so were the deaths. 

He glared half-heartedly at the guards as they pushed him into the Pit. It wasn't as if he needed pushing, he was one of the few fighters who went peacefully into the Pit. His opponent was forced into the Pit behind him. It was the new girl, the one who'd arrived the day before. The fight bosses were usually better at giving him stronger opponents, this girl wouldn't last five minutes against him.

Raising an eyebrow, he turned to look up at Forza, the big fight boss who organised and controlled this hell. He let the question show on his face, silently asking why was being given a newbie to kill. Forza just shrugged, and turned to talk to the lady next to him.

He had to wonder just how and where they were getting their fighters. They always had around thirty fighters, with newbies coming in every other day or so. But then the weapons were tossed into the Pit, and everything but survival was pushed out of his mind. The weapons were nothing special, knives, wooden bats and metal bars, things like that, things that were easier to use for wounding rather than killing, and nothing that could be used against the crowd. He was always thankful that they let him use weapons, because he didn't want to have to use his bare hands to kill.

The girl, he didn't know her name and didn't really care, looked around wildly, pressing her back against the wall of the Pit, as far away from him as she could possibly get. She looked terrified and confused, he didn't blame her. The other fighters had tried to explain what her life was going to be like now, but he didn't think she'd understood, so he tried.

"Kid, you gotta listen to me," He spoke quietly, his voice scratchy and hoarse from disuse. "You're gotta fight me, okay? Because if you don't, you're gonna die. Pick up a weapon, and attack me. Come on, kid, you don't want to know what they'll do to you if you don't fight, trust me on that one."

The girl didn't listen to him, she just fell to her knees and began mumbling, pleading, begging. He sighed, and picked up a knife from the floor. The least he could do was make the girl's death as quick and painless as possible, which was much more preferable to the alternetive but if he didn't put on a good show, he wouldn't get his night of luxury, and he desperately wanted a shower.

He was barely a foot away when the girl suddenly rolled to her left, grabbing at a wooden bat like object. She staggered to her feet, bat held in front of her, and her wild gaze was filled with fear and determination. He wasn't sure whether to feel glad that they would give the crowd a good show and thus, give him a night of luxury, or sad that the girl would fight and thus, force him to hurt her. Still, he was glad that the girl would fight, meaning that she was safe from the guards' torture.

He never really felt anything when he fought, it was as if part of his brain just shut down. He moved, he thought, he reacted, but never felt anything. It was like he was looking through a stranger's eyes, someone not a part of him. He remembered everything, but couldn't really remember actually doing it. It was as if someone else had possessed his body and used it as their own, only letting him return when his opponent was dead.

He remembered grabbing the bat from the girl's hands and throwing it away, remembered flipping the knife for a downward strike, remembered feeling the cool steel slide into the girl's body, finding the heart and shredding it, remembered the body jerking and going limp, falling to the ground and pulling him with it, and he remembered pulling the knife out of the body, but only when he stood up, taking a step back from the body, did the stranger let him have his body back.

Blinking he looked down at the body, watching the blood well up and run down the girl's side in rivers of red, to pool on the dirty, stained ground. The crowd was cheering, and things were being thrown down at him, some hitting him with short, sharp jabs of pain, but he noticed none of it. The girl's face was tear-streaked, and more tears hung on her thick lashes like tiny diamonds, sparkling in the harsh light of the Pit. She looked innocent and fragile like a broken doll.

The door clanged open, and three guards walked in, guns and stun batons held at the ready. He looked at them with dead eyes, and waited to be lead out of The Pit. The pool of blood was slowly creeping towards him, but he made no move to step out of the way, watching as it puddled around his feet, gleaming dark crimson in the light.

* * *

Thirty minutes later, he was standing in a rusty, metal cubical, lukewarm water pouring down on him. He stared up at the ceiling, not flinching away from the glaring light of the naked bulb. The girl's large, greenish eyes haunted his mind, softly accusing and harshly pleading. He wasn't sure why he couldn't forget the girl's eyes, usually he had no problem forgetting his victims, but there was something about this girl that kept tugging at his mind. The memory of her kept forcing its way out of the deep recesses of his mind. 

Sighing he stepped out of the shower, water trickling down his thin body, and grabbed the small, scratchy towel from the floor, wrapping it around himself before stepping out of the bathroom.

The luxury room wasn't much, with a small table, chair, and mattress. There was a warm meal sitting on the table waiting for him, real food not the fake crap they gave the fighters. It looked like heaven, but he wasn't interested in heaven tonight.

Still, he sat down and ate the meal before flopping down on the thin mattress, still wrapped in the towel. This was his reward, he thought, his reward for being a killer. Briefly he wondered why he'd been given the mattress, it hadn't been a really good fight, it was over with in five minutes, he hadn't done anything to deserve the treat. But the thoughts drifted away as a numbing wave of sleep washed over him, brushing away all thought, all emotion, everything.

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A/N: Don't worry in the next chapter or two you'll find out who 'He' is. Even though I have a good idea about who I want it to be let me know in a review who you think it might be because you guys are the ones reading this so any input you're willing to give would be welcome. 


	3. To Fight Or Not To Fight

The fighters were anxious. There hadn't been a single fight in over a week, which meant the fight bosses were working up to something big and whatever it was, the fighters knew that it wouldn't be good. Because of this knowledge, the atmosphere in the cells had changed dramatically.

The fighters had a peculiar relationship with each other, while on the one hand they all kept each other at a distance, always knowing they might end up fighting one another, and they didn't want to have to kill someone they had grown attached to, but on the other hand they would offer comfort and friendship, help ease the emotional and physical pain that someone was suffering if they were able.

The suspense had caused this weird behaviour to increase, until the fighters wouldn't speak to each other, wouldn't even try and look at the people opposite them, didn't try to sneak touches whenever they could. They were all just waiting, breathlessly, for whatever disaster was coming.

Even he was feeling the tension as he chewed on his food bar. He'd couldn't remember the last time he'd gone this long without a fight he hated the waiting. It was the calm before the storm, he knew that, and knowing that the storm was coming did nothing to calm him. The endless waiting, with nothing but his thoughts to distract him, was torture.

The door banged open, and he heard several guards walk in. Against his will he tensed up, pressing up against the wall, trying to disappear into the shadows. There were six of them in total, and they stopped right in front of his cell. They were all smirking or grinning, and that was a Bad Sign. He attempted to glare at them, but it wasn't as strong as usual. There was a cold, uneasy feeling in his gut, causing him to shiver slightly.

A brown haired guard unlocked the door, and two others stepped inside, weapons held at the ready. For the first time since he'd gotten there, he considered resisting them. He didn't want to go into the Pit tonight, every instinct he had was screaming at him not to go into the Pit.

"Come on, 'Lantean, don't want to keep the crowd waiting." A blonde haired guard spoke. Still uneasy he forced his muscles to relax. Standing up he walked out of the cell with his head bowed. He could feel the other fighters watching as he walked past the cells, but he never raised his eyes to look at them.

The Pit slowly came into view. Steping inside he was greeted by the sound of cheers and encouragement, but ignored them, walking to the far side, before turning around to face the entrance. When no other fighter was herded inside after him, the feeling of unease grew.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have a special treat for you tonight," Forza announced, his voice amplified electronically until it boomed. "This last week has been spent preparing for this fight, for it truly will be grand. Tonight, you will witness the 'Lantean face off against one of his own kind! Watch as the bonds of friendship are ripped apart by blood and the will to survive! Cheer as they forget all ties that bind them together as they go one-on-one in a battle to the death!"

Air rushed out of his lungs almost as if he'd been punched in the stomach. He stared up at Forza in disbelief, no longer hearing all the eager proclamations the man was making to the rowdy crowd.

His mind was racing, trying to figure out who they might possibly have captured. Would he really have to kill a friend? That was the last thing he wanted to believe, he didn't want to accept it. His friends were - had been - all he had, they were his family, he couldn't just murder one of them. He didn't even want to fight them; he wouldn't do it.

But he had no other choice, he either fought, or got tortured. He wondered if family was really worth being tortured for. It was painful to admit that, he had thought he would do anything for his family, but when it came right down to it, he just didn't know if that was true.

What it really came down to was whether he valued his life or his family more. He had once thought that he'd die for his family, but when faced with the situation of his life or their's, he selfishly had to choose himself.

Sighing he closed his eyes and whispered a quick prayer asking forgivness. Hearing the door to the Pit open, he didn't open his eyes. There was a grunt, followed by the sound of someone falling to their knees. The grunt almost sounded familiar, but he couldn't be sure, it was definitly male though he knew that much. He heard the weapons being thrown into the Pit, but didn't hear the other person picking up anything.

Carefully listening for his opponet gave him no answers to who it could be. Frustrated he knew he had to open his eyes, had to fight, had to give the crowd what they wanted. Slowly opening his eyes, looking down at the floor he could see the person's knees and thighs, and instantly recognised the tan pants. Breath catching in his throat, he refused to believe that they had managed to catch….

Whirling around he glared up at Forza. The bastard was actually smirking and looking very satisfied with himself. He wanted to punch that smug grin off the sadistic bastard's face, and considered trying to climb up the walls, but knew that he would just get hurt.

"You fucking bastard!" He growled. "I'm not fighting him. I'm not fucking fighting him!"

Forza laughed. "It seems our champion here has some defiance left in him," he said to the lady next to him, before turning back to glare down at his prize fighter. "You will fight 'Lantean, and you will make a good show of it before killing him, or so help me I will make you deeply regret it."

Icy fear stabbed at his heart, but he didn't let it show. Turning away from Forza he realised that the time had come to make the ultimate decision, no more stalling: would he kill one of his best friends friend? Sighing in resignation his shoulders slumped, the anger and fear draining out of his body to puddle on the floor, leaving him… empty.

"I'm sorry Rodney." He whispered, finally looking his friend square in the eyes.

"John, what's going on? What's happening? Who are these people? Where are we? Where have you been these past months? We've been looking everywhere for you." Rodney frantically searched his friend's face for some answers.

"I'm sorry, Rodney, god I'm sorry. I wish it didn't have to go down this way, but it's preferable to the alternitive."

"Wish what didn't have to go down? Damn it John, talk to me, tell me what the hell's going on!"

"Short version this is called the Pit, think of a dogfight, but with humans instead of dogs. I've been here fighting for my life ever since these bastards caught me on MX-2368. The rules are pretty simple, and really cliché: two fighters enter, only one leaves. Esentially we have to fight until one of us is dead."

"What? This is insane John, you can stay and fight if you want but I'm getting out of here right now." Rodney struggled to his feet and turned to face the door. John sighed as he watched Rodney futilely attempted to open the door.

"Give it up Rodney." John forcefully pulled Rodney away from the door. "We're trapped. If we don't fight-"

"So we have a choice?" Rodney asked, her eyes desperately pleading with John to say yes.

"Not much of one. If we refuse to fight, we'll be tortured, which trust me is bad enough. It's better to just fight, less painful believe me."

"Tough I don't care if it's better, I'm not fucking fighting you. So you'd just better start using that Mensa passing brain of yours and figure a way outta here." Rodney stared John in the eyes, defiantly. John felt a surge of pity wash through his body, and looked down at the weapons scattered on the ground.

"Look I promise to make it quick, but Rodney you have to decide if you want me to just kill you, or if you're going to fight me."

Rodney looked at John, all hope draining from his eyes, leaving only the fear behind, and the uncertainty. "John, I can't…"

"Trust me if there was any other way I'd gladly take it Rodney. If you want, I can make your death quick and painless. If you want to fight me and see if you can win that's fine, but if you don't fight me, you'll regret it for hours, maybe days. But if you do fight me, know that I promise to give you one helluva fight. All friendship ends right here, right now if you decide to fight."

Rodney shook his head. "I won't fight you, god damn it! I won't fucking do it and if you're so willing to fight and kill me then I guess you're not the John Sheppard I thought I knew so just get it over with."

"You're right I'm not the John Sheppard you knew, any more." John whispered quietly to himself.

Deciding to just end this torture John picked up a knife from the floor, gripping the black handle tightly. Taking a step forward, John couldn't force himself to go any further. His friend looked so defeated, but never took his eyes off of John's.

John knew he should just kill Rodney, save them both a world of pain, but… Rodney didn't deserve this, someone as brilliant as Rodney didn't desever to have his life cut short. John couldn't kill that brilliance. He knew he should, his mind was screaming at him to do it, but his heart… his heart was telling him not to.

Frustrated at how Rodney could bring both the best and the worst out of him, John let the knife slip from his fingers. John turned to look up at Forza, knowing that he was making a huge mistake but also doing the right thing.

"Don't do this, 'Lantean." Forza could see the defiance in John's eyes. It angered him that he was about to loose the best fighter he'd ever had because of something as trival as friendship.

When neither John nor Rodney made to move Forza signled and a group of guards stormed into The Pit, John watched them come impassively. A small voice whispered that he'd saved his friend, and yet doomed him at the same time. John smiled at the irony of the entire situation, he wouldn't/couldn't out right kill his best friend, so instead condemned him to hours of torture. That made a bucket load of sense.

* * *

A/N: When the whisper of an idea hit me for this story I'd originally planed to have John and Rodney's places reversed, but after going back over what I'd written already and what you guys had to say I decided it made more sense to have John be the one who was captured first. Let me know what you think please, thank you. 


	4. Torture

A/N: I was planning to wait another day or so to post this chapter but Chaps review convinced me to post it sooner. Also even though some of you may be wondering how Rodney was captured and where the others are at, I never actually intened to write that part of the story I want to keep this going from John's perspective so you'll just have to use your imaginations to answer those questions.

This is the chapter where the VIOLENCE and TORTURE warnings really come into play.

* * *

John couldn't help the scream that escaped as Keeshaw dragged a sharp knife through a healing cut, cutting open the stitches and making the wound deeper. Blood trickled down John's arm in thick, crimson rivulets, dripping from his fingertips to splash on the floor. 

Rodney's desperate yells filling the air, ordering them, begging them, to stop, caused John to force his eyes open and look at his friend. The scientist was chained to the wall opposite John, so far, untouched. Rodney's torture was purely mental at this stage, he was just being forced to watch as they hurt John. Their roles would be reversed later, and John would be the one watching. But he knew, as did the guards, that sometimes watching, could be just as painful as the actual experience.

"You really should have fought, fool." Keeeshaw leaned close to whisper into John's ear. The smoke from the cigarette like thing the guard was smoking made John's eyes sting. When Keeshaw dragged it lightly across his abdomen John tried desperately not to scream. "Will you fight now 'Lantean? Say yes and this will end."

"Fuck Off!" John spit in Keeshaw's face. Keeshaw growled, not pleased with John's answer, and shoved the cigarette into his belly button. John couldn't stop the scream that time, it tore out of his throat to fill the air with its pain-filled despair.

One of the other guards walked over, John desperately tried to remember his name. He had a mental list of all the guards, what their personalities were like, and how they usually acted in hopes he could maybe one day use that knowledge to convince one of them to help him. But right now, John's mind had cleared of all thought except the pain, preventing him from 'finding' the list.

"I think the 'Lantean's still got a bit too much spirit," The guard spoke, smiling in what would almost be considered a pleasant way had they been in any other situation. "I think it's time we play a diferent game."

A freezing wave of emotion paralized John with fear, as he stared at the guards in desperation. New game? What new game? What harm would it cause? Would he be able to endure it, or would he finally break? Would he agree to fight Rodney?

John wasn't able to see the guards that approached from behind, but he could hear them. He counted the footsteps and knew that there were three of them. His fear escalated as he jerked against the chains holding him down, hoping in vain that some miracle would happen that would allow him to break free.

Two pairs of gloved hands gripped John's body, one on each side, one hand on his shoulder and the other on his waist. As they held him tightly, immobilising him, John felt a tear trickle down his cheek against his will. John took a deep breath and let it out, repeating the process again and again, trying desperately to calm down, and brace himself for whatever was coming. It didn't work.

White hot and mind numbing pain exploded through out John's body when something pressed against the small of his back. John screamed, a ragged, wordless scream of limitless pain, his muscles tensed as he fought against his captors. Distantly, he heard Rodney screaming out to him, and to the guards, but it was a vague, unimportant knowledge.

The pressure on John's back vanished, but the pain remained, huge searing bolts of pain that shot through his body until it seemed that the pain had lasted forever and would continue for eternity. Tears streamed down John's face mixing into the pools of blood on the floor, but he didn't care. His throat burned from the endless screaming, but the stinging pain went unnoticed.

What felt like an eternity later John managed to gather enough of his wits to realise that he was close to hyperventilating and passing out. John focused on his breathing, concentrated on keeping it slow and steady. John stared at the pools of blood at his feet, his blood, and used the sight to anchor himself. The pain was a deep, deep ache in his back, but it was manageable now.

"What the… What the fuck was...that?" John panted, his voice hoarse and rough from screaming.

Keeshaw laughed and moved into John's line of sight, holding up something that looked suspiciously like a branding iron. Then he twisted it slightly, and John realised with a wave of revulsion that he was basically right and that he now had the word animal burned into his flesh - the type of writing the guards and fight bosses used vaguly reminded John of Chinese writing and John had been able to pick up what some words were. Bile rose up in his throat, but John choked it down, refusing to give in, to let them win. He wouldn't do that, he was stronger than that, he had to be.

An endless amount of excruciating agony followed as more words were burned into John's flesh. The guards always told him what names they were burning into him, but he could only remember a few: worthless, savage, murder. John screamed and cursed and screamed some more, but not once did he give in, he never agreed to fight Rodney. And in that respect he'd won, he'd beaten them.

The little comfort that knowledge offered lasted only seconds before the pain stripped it away. Twice John passed out, but each time he was woken up rudely with ice cold water, salt on his wounds, and vicious beatings. They wanted him to experience every painful sensation they gave him, and they weren't going to let John escape even a second of it.

* * *

Rodney screamed, thrashing with all his strength, but to no avail. The guards held him down as their grinning friend slammed the metal pole against Rodney again and again, tearing and briusing his skin without caring. Sweat beaded both their skin; the guard from exertion, Rodney from terror and despair. 

John watched it all with a mixture of sorrow and fury, not able to drag his eyes away from the pitying and terrifying sight of his best friend being beat. John's body still ached and burned with pain, which prevented him from struggling against his chains, trying to help Rodney.

"Stop it!" Rodney screamed, his desperate voice echoing in the small room. "I'll fight! God damn it I'll fucking fight! Just fucking stop it!"

John's heart plummeted. Something inside him, something that had somehow survived not only his torture, but the sight of his friend's, shattered at the knowledge that now he would either have to kill his best friend or be killed by him.

A tear rolled down John's cheek as he bowed his head, his breath hitching in his throat. John wanted to cry, wanted to sob and scream and moan and whimper and not have to fight his friend. But in his heart, he knew that he had no choice, so John fought back the tears, fought back the pain, fought back the anger that he'd gone through all that pain for nothing, and raised his head again.

The guards moved away from Rodney, leaving him to tremble on the floor. Blood was splattered all over him from multiple cuts, and his skin was starting to darken in several places, ugly bruises already starting to form. His fingernails were broken and bloody from where he'd clawed at the chains that held him, trying desperately to escape the pain.

Rodney bore very little resemblance to the confident, arogant, cocky, pain in the ass scientist John knew and John hated the guards so fiercely in that moment, hot rage burned through his body. He hated them for turning his friend into someone so broken and defeated. It was then that John swore on his pride, on his honour, on his very soul, that he would kill them, kill every last one of these guards or he would die trying.


	5. Death Match

A/N: Belisse you're in luck since the Sophmores at my school have to do ISAT testing this week (Ha, Ha, suckers) and pass if they want to graduate high school, us lucky Juniors and Seniors basically get four glorious days of absolutly no homework, which means I hade enough free time to write this chapter so soon after the last. So no need to send those snipers out after me, besides if your snipers get me how will I finish this story?

There is a character death in this chapter, but fear not because by the end of this story everything should work out more or less.

* * *

The Pit was exactly the same as always, but to John's eyes, it had become even more vile and sinister, even more evil. Because this time, he would either kill his best friend, or be killed himself. John had never been close to any of his opponents before, he'd always kept himself isolated and hidden away, so that when he fought, he knew nothing more about his opponent other than what their strengths and weaknesses were. No personal information meaning no personal attachments. 

But this time was different. This time, John knew his opponent personally. He knew what food Rodney liked, knew what his favourite movies were, knew how he liked his coffee, knew how he hated ignorant people, knew how much he loved blondes. John knew everything, every strength, every weakness, every little detail. John sighed, watching his feet as he walked inside, listening with a small flinch of sorrow as Rodney was quite literally thrown in behind him.

Two days had passed since their torture, and they were both healing as well as could be expected. They were still injured, still in pain, but the bosses had decreed that the fight would take place tonight, no matter what. John's skin still ached from the branding irons, and his muscles throbbed whenever he tried to move. John was weak, and he knew it. He had never fought in such a weakened condition, and though his training helped him to overcome many forms of pain, this pain was a completely new level of agony and John couldn't quite handle it. Nothing allowed him to escape it, not exercises, or even complex math problems, and he knew that because of it, Rodney stood a better chance of winning.

Rodney's injuries weren't as bad as John's, because he'd suffered for a smaller amount of time because his torture had been after John's. Cuts, bruises, a broken rib, a sprained ankle, and a shoulder that had been dislocated. Rodney had spent a few hours unconscious, something that John had been grateful for, as it gave him time to think.

John had thought a lot during that time, had thought about his past, about his present, about his rather shaky future. He'd thought about his friendship with Rodney, thought about his other friends, thought about his enemies, thought about the people who didn't quite fall into either the 'friend' or 'foe' category. He thought about his skills and talents, about his weaknesses and faults. John also thought about something he rarely did, he thought about his faith.

He'd never really believed in God, the thought that there was some mystical higher power guiding and dictating his actions and that he had a destiny and stuff like that was a bit too fantastical for him to really believe in - which was kind of ironic considering he currently lived in an another galaxy in a city built by a highly advanced race of aliens - but sometimes, he did find himself thinking about what happened after death. The thought that everything just stopped was too depressing, but if that wasn't true, then what exactly did happen? Was it Heaven or Hell, was it reincarnation, what exactly happened?

John had never actually decided what he believed, and what he wanted to happen, but he did know that he wanted things to keep going, in one way or another. He always wanted a piece of himself, some part of his spirit, his essence, his soul, to continue on. Whether it was in another body or an animal or hell, even a tree, John didn't really care. The details weren't important to him, just the basic need for some piece of himself to live on forever. And that, to him was good enough.

The sound of the weapons being tossed into The Pit dragged John out of his dreamlike thoughts and brought him crashing back into the brutal reality. Rodney was kneeling down on the dirty floor, a rather large and very sharp knife next to his right knee. John watched as Rodney slowly reached out to grasp it.

John's heart gave one painful thud then settled down into a slow, steady rhythm. Biting his lip, John crouched down to pick up the nearest weapon, two solid and hefty fighting sticks. John knew how to handle them well thanks to his training with Teyla, they were much more powerful than the ones he and Teyla had used, but also slightly trickier to handle due to their mass and weight, but John was confident he could handle them and gave them an experimental twirl, getting used to the feel of them in his hands.

Gripping the fighting sticks tightly John shifted his footing so that he was in a more solid fighting stance, ready for the fight to begin.

John was the first to move, he knew Rodney would never make the initial attack, knew that his friend would stay still and hope for a last minute miracle, a last minute rescue. But John was more realistic, he knew that there were no miracles, no rescue coming in time, not for them anyway, and he wanted this nightmare to be over with as soon as possible. So, making sure he had a good grip on his weapon, John darted forward, pushing all thought and emotion out of his mind and heart.

Rodney dived out of the way, rolling on the ground and coming up in a defensive crouch. He discarded the knife instead picking up a long metal pipe. John lunged forward again. Rodney stayed in his crouch until the last second, before rolling onto his back, pipe coming up to block John's fighting sticks. Both of them strained against the other, pushing against the other weapon. They were nearly equal in strength, but what difference there was equalled out by John's superior position and better leverage.

John quickly realised this for the stalemate it was and jumped backwards, twirling the fighting sticks again just to impress the crowd. Rodney flipped himself onto his feet and did some impressive moves with his pipe, apparently trying to impress the crowd as well.

"You've kept up with your training." John was slightly impressed, Rodney had appearently kept up with his fighting lessons even though John hadn't been around to hound him every second about them.

"And you haven't let your skills slip," Rodney murmured, stalking around the Pit in an attempt to get behind John, an attempt foiled by John copying Rodney's movements, matching him step for step.

"If I had, we wouldn't be in this perdicament, I'd be dead already." John replied, just as quietly.

"True, but that's just like you, always having to be the best." It was a weak attempt at trying to get under John's skin, to remind him that Roney was one of the few people John would call a true friend, but John just let the comment wash over him, not letting it affect him.

Instead, John leapt forward, aiming one of his fighting sticks at Rodney's head. Rodney blocked it with no trouble just as John knew he would, and before the scientist knew what hit him, John had used the other fighting stick to sweep Rodney's feet out from under him.

Rodney landed on his back with a groan, John gave Rodney no time to recover before he was moving to hit him again, forcing Rodney to roll away and come up in a battle crouch. Rodney moved forward, trying for a classic head strike with his pipe, but John blocked it, sweeping a fighting stick down and out before bringing it up to try for a similar move.

The crowd was cheering and shouting things, ranging from encouragement to insults, but inside the Pit all was silent. Neither man said anything, there was nothing to say. They were no longer friends, they were enemies, and neither of them spoke to their enemies.

The low, hard clacking of their weapons meeting was steady and rapid, quick, sharp beats like a fast heartbeat. They moved around the Pit, not really watching where they were going, just always aware of where the weapons and walls were so that they didn't trip or get cornered. Neither of them were thinking, they couldn't afford to, they were just reacting, while everything but their bodies and primitive instincs shut down.

They'd practised against each other for months - John had insisted that if any civilains were going to be on field teams they had to know how to defend themselevs - before either of them had ended up in this hell hole and their bodies knew what to do, knew how to defend and attack, how to react to certain moves. Their bodies saw traps and strategies and reacted to them without any input from their brains. Fighting was automatic, instinct, for them now.

John realised quickly that they were almost evenly matched and that unless one of them got creative, the fight could last for hours. He didn't want it to last for hours, his muscles were already screaming at him to end the fight right then and there or they were going to be seriously pissed at him. John thought desperately, trying to think up a strategy, a plan, that would work. Rodney was smart, not just book smart but over all smart and not enough people gave him credit for that. Rodney wasn't always aware of it, but he was often able to anticipate an enemy's moves in advance and figure out traps. 'Knowing it's a trap is the first step in avading it' had been one of the very first things John had drilled into Rodney's head about fighting.

Knowing that a trap wouldn't work, John decided he just had to do something obvious and simple. He pushed Rodney away and darted to the side, putting a foot of empty space between them. Before Rodney could rush him, John made his move; he threw one fighting stick in the air while droping the other. Rodney glanced at the fighting stick in the air out of instinct, a bare flick of the eyes that didn't even last a second, but it was just enough.

John jumped forward, his body already doing the work before his mind could tell it to. John kicked Rodney in the chest, hard, knocking the breath out of his lungs as he collapsed onto the ground. John grabbed a knife that lay on the ground, already moving towards his friend. In one fluid and continuous movement, never stopping or hesitating, John went down on one knee, flipping the knife in his hand for a better strike, and brought it down into his friend's chest, automatically finding the heart.

Rodney gasped, a wet, gurgling kind of sound, back arching up off the ground, hands clawing at the knife buried in his chest. He stared straight up, his eyes shimmering with tears. Rodney's body shuddered then collapsed back onto the ground, quiet, limp, lifeless.

John jerked the knife out of Rodney's chest, staring at the crimson blade for a moment before letting it fall from his hand. John bowed his head closing his eyes against a suspicious wetness. His shaggy hair slid forward, hiding his face from the cheering crowd. He could hear them screaming and shouting and clapping and stamping their feet, but it didn't matter. Nothing mattered anymore.


	6. Emptyness

A/N: (Hiding under desk) Yes I know most of you probably hate me right now after that last chapter, but remeber in the first chapter in the warning I said _semi_-character death. This is fanfiction anythings possible. But I'll give you all a hint about whats to come in the ending: Odds are it's not at all what you might be thinking.

Belisse: I couldn't help but chuckle at the beginning of your review, I have no idea if that was you're intention, but your review for chapter five (chapter four too) made my day.

elemental-sparky: I'm sorry that was totally not my intention. I hope you and Shep can make up.

* * *

The bastard Forza paid John a vist personally that night, about an hour after the fight had ended and all the guests had left. He praised John on such a good fight, on making him so much money, and informed John that he would be excused from fighting until his wounds fully healed. Forza didn't apologise for the torture or the choice of his opponent, and John knew he wasn't sorry. John just looked at Forza with dead eyes until he left him alone in his small room, with only the low, dying light of a lamp to chase away the shadows that lurked in the corners. 

A doctor was sent to take care of John's wounds, not saying any more than was necessary and never looking John in the eyes. The doctor tried to give John something for the pain, but he refused, explaining that he didn't like being drugged up. It seemed like hours before he was finally left alone, and John thought about locking the door before he remembered that there was no lock. So instead he just curled up on the real bed he'd been allowed, with the thick, warm blanket pulled tight around his body, and tried very hard not to think

John thought, absently, that he should be mourning the loss of his friend, should be angry at Forza for putting him into that situation, should be regretting the choice he'd made to fight. John should've been a lot of things, but he wasn't. He'd thought he knew what is was like to be void of all feeling especially during the past months, but he'd been wrong. There had always been a glimmer of emotion in his heart, some spark of life, it had just been buried so deeply he'd thought he'd lost it.

But now, staring at the ceiling with his friend's blood on his hands, metaphorically speaking of course, he really was emotionless. John could have been killed in that instant, or been told that he was being set free, and he wouldn't have cared. It was all pointless now, John had sworn that no matter what these sadstic bastards that held him captive would never have the pleasure of breaking him and now they never would because he'd just broken himself in the Pit when that knife went through Rodney's heart.

Over the past couple of months, hell, if he was being truly honest with himself, over the past few years, he'd slowly been killing himself, tearing off pieces of his soul, sacrificing bits of his heart, for others and he'd been fine. Sometime after ending up in his own version of hell he'd changed, become dark and reclusive, but he'd been okay, he'd coped, he'd survived. But now… now he was truly broken. John wasn't going to fool himself he would never recover from killing Rodney, and a part of him didn't want to, because he shouldn't be able to. Killing your best friend was not supposed to be something you could just get over.

The night passed agonizingly slow, silent as a graveyard. Usually, John could always hear some form of movement, normally that of the guards checking on the fighters, but now there was nothing just silence heavy, thick, unbearable silence that pressed against him like a pillow, trying to smother him, trying to kill him. John shook his head and rolled onto his back.

He'd never dealt with silence very well, that was why he always tried to have other people around him, most people thought he did it because he liked being the center of attention, always had to have people around to worship him, and he'd used to think along those lines too, but lying there he realized that no he didn't do it because he wanted attention, he did it to chase away the silence. John thought about this new piece of information about himself until he was too tired to think anymore, and fell asleep.

* * *

John woke immediately, his subconscious screaming at him that he wasn't alone, that someone was in the room with him. John fought to keep his body relaxed and his breathing steady, focusing on not giving any indication that he was awake. Straining his ears, John deduced that the person was standing by the opposite wall, far enough away that unless they had a gun pointed at him, he had a good chance of fighting back. 

With that thought in mind, John opened his eyes while sitting up. His body screamed at him, the wounds from his torture making themselves known, John repressed the urge to wince and fold up in a little ball of pain. Apparently, he'd reached that oh so fun stage where every minor movement hurt like a fucker. It wasn't surprising as quite a few of his wounds were on his back and every time he moved, he used the muscles in his back. It was not going to be fun for the next day or so.

It turned out to be Keeshaw that had walked into the room. He was leaning against the far wall with his arms folded across his chest. He was watching John and there was something in his eyes that John really didn't like. He glared at Keeshaw, wondering what in the hell he was doing there.

"You got us all pretty stumped 'Lantean." Keeshaw smirked. "You refuse to fight and get the shit beat out of you for it, only fighting after that friend of yours caves in and yet the boss still not only gives you the luxury room but let's you stay here and excuses you from fighting until you're all better. And not a one of us can figure out how you pulled that off. If you'd been any other fighter your ass would have been ours to do with as we pleased even though you'd won."

"Gee nice to know my fucked up life concerns you." The sarcasm poured off of John "Now, if you don't mind get the fuck out and leave me the hell alone."

Keeshaw's face darkened and he pushed away from the wall, hands clenching into fists. A vein started throbbing in his temple. "You watch your back, because the second you're back in your cell, you're ours again. Until then, you get to be free, but the moment that you get put back, we're gonna have a lotta fun you and me."

With that, Keeshaw stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him, and John sighed. He really shouldn't have been such a smart ass, it only lead to trouble, but he was always bitchy when he was hurt, kind of like Rod-- John stopped himself, nope he wasn't going down that train of thought. Shaking his head John winced at the pain when his wounds protested at the movement, and very carefully lay back down on the bed.

The one good thing about sleeping was that it let John think about things easier, it gave his brain a chance to play catch up with everything else and assess things. While sleeping his brain played catch up while simultaneously telling his heart to shut the hell up for a little bit. The previous days events kept playing out inside John's head like a movie with everything in perfect clarity. He could look at it all and see every little detail, hear every sound. He could see, with perfect clarity, the exact moment Rodney died.

Thinking about it John realized that he wasn't exactly empty anymore, but it was as if his emotions had been dulled, giving only faint echoes of the true, raw emotions he'd once been capable of feeling. Sadness, regret, anger, it was all there, but faint, like a whisper half-heard in the night. It was a coping mechanism John had developed over the years, a technique that let him deal with things slowly, easing him into things. John had never been more grateful for it than he was right then.

* * *

Two days after the fight, John asked to be taken back to his cell. He couldn't rest in the luxury room, it was a constant, painful reminder of what he'd done, and if he ever hoped to get his life back to some resemblence of normal he had to get out of there. The guards were delighted, as John knew they'd be, but it was a small price to pay for being out of that damn room. 

John's cell was just as he remembered, small, dark, and very depressing. He stepped inside and listened to the door being locked. Sighing, John sat down in the corner and looked at the marks he'd made on the wall. Prying a new rock chip off the wall he made two more lines, even though he really had no idea how many days he'd missed while he was unconscious back at the beginning of all this mess.

The only thing different about John's cell was that now he had a little call button that would fetch the doctor. Or at least, that was the idea. In truth, it probably wouldn't work because all the button did was flash a little light at the guard station which would alert the guard on duty that he wanted medical attention. John really doubted that they'd be in any big hurry to get the doctor.

John could hear the other fighters talking, whispering amongst themselves, hearing his name mentioned numerous times. John couldn't blame them his fight, and what had happened after it, was good news. First, who his opponent was, then their shared torture, then their eventual fight, his win, and then being given a pass on fights until he was healed; it was all something to talk about. A couple of the fighters tried talking to John, and ask him questions, but he just ignored them until they stopped trying.

The sound of booted footsteps made John tense and huddle in his corner. He listened closely, most of the guards had their own unique walk and only one of the guards had a little pause in their walk: Keeshaw. He appeared in front of John's cell a second after he realised who it was, and leered at him.

"Well if it isn't his holyness, come to pay us low lifes a vist." Keeshaw mock bowed.

"So nice of you to come back, now we get to have our fun." Keeshaw didn't like John's silence, or his stillness. Giving John a hard, cold look filled with hatred Keeshaw started to open the cell door.

Sighing John fought back a momentary urge to cry, before standing up and reluctantly moving away from the shadows ready to meet what ever Keeshaw dished out, head on. John hated the look Keeshaw had in his eyes, it never failed to make John feel like a worthless piece of shit, which normally wasn't an easy thing to do.

A muffled explosion sounded close enough to make both John and Keeshaw freeze. Startled they both looked at each other for a second thinking 'What the hell?' before snapping back into themselves. Forgeting about John, Keeshaw rushed off to see what was going on and John just stood there trying to hear what was happening.

Mostly all John heard was the guards rushing about and shouting at each other, but he also heard a couple more explosions; if he didn't know any better John would have sworn he was hearing gernades as well as a few things of C4 going off. What the hell was going on out there?

His answer came when he heard a P90 being fired near by. Rushing forward, leaning against the bars, John allowed a small smile of relief to form as he watched Lt. Ford and Sgt. Markham come jogging up to his cell.

"Major Sheppard?" Both soldiers stopped cold, shocked as hell when they recongnized the form of their CO. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Well I heard so many good things about the room service around here I just had to check it out and see if all the talk was just that, talk." John replied sarcastically, momentary relief rushing through his veins like a drug. "What the hell do you mean what am I doing here?"

"Sorry sir, you just caught us by surprise no one had any idea you were here. We came to get Dr. McKay, he was taken from off world a few days ago, but luckily one of the other scientists got a look at the DHD, unfortunitly it took us a few days to get the right address together and a rescue team ready. Have you seen McKay around here any where?" Ford explained as he opened the cell door using the key he'd swiped off one of the guards.

"Yeah I saw him, but it doesn't matter because you're too late he's dead." John ducked his head down not able to meet Ford or Markham's eyes. The three stood in mornful silence until the sound of all the other fighters demanding to know what was going on broke them out of it. "Look you two stay here and get them all out of here." John started to jog away but stopped when he felt Ford grab his arm.

"With all do respect sir, just where the hell do you think you're going?"

"I've got some unfinished business to take care of." John answered grimly, twisting free of Fords grip. "Now get these people the fuck out of, that's an order Lt."

John stopped long enough to rob the dead guard by the door of his baton and gun. He gripped the gun tightly, letting the burning cold of anger and hatred swell up in him, dispelling the relief of being rescued until he was nearly numb. Only one thought existed in John's mind now, and it was the thought of a face with blue eyes and a briliant mind.


	7. Revenge & Freedom

A/N: Must thank everyone who's reviewed this so far. Imagine my surprise and delight when I woke up this morning to find several lovely reviews sitting in my inbox just waiting to be read.

* * *

John could remember all their names all the guards. He knew their names, knew what they looked like, and knew that every single one of them would die at his hands before he left this godforsaken place. 

John had never actually explored the building, there were only three places he was ever allowed to be: his cell, the Pit, and the luxury room, and it was a direct route each time. John quickly confirmed that the building was a maze of corridors. He passed a couple of elevators that would presumably lead up, but ignored them; he had a mission.

The first guard John came across was named Brayden, one of the more 'normal' of the guards, fairly young, but with a very good right-hook. Not expecting to see John, Brayden ran down the corridor with a mildly panicked expression, John raised the baton he'd taken, bringing it around to smash into the guard's face. Brayden slammed into the wall and crumpled to the floor, unconscious with a broken jaw. John shot him in the head, the shot echoing in the empty corridor, and grabbed the guards gun, shoving it behind his back, not a perfect place but it would have to do.

John moved on, straining all his senses and pausing to listen cautiously before turning a corner. It was empty, and he moved along it cautiously, eyes darting around, searching out any traps. His feet made no sound as he walked, his training making him move like a ghost. He had six targets, not including Forza. John knew that the chances of killing all of them without getting hurt, or worse, was slim, but didn't care.

John passed a door, but paused when he heard a scuffling noise from inside. He listened closely and ascertained that there was only one person in there, trying very hard to be quiet and actually doing quite a good job more or less.

John took a step back and studied the door. It was fairly poor quality, thin wood and easily breakable. He stared at it, focusing all his attention on a spot just next to the handle, until it was all he could see. Then he kicked it sharply, his booted foot connecting with a low thump. The lock splintered and the door swung back on its hinges, revealing the room inside.

He was already scanning the room with his eyes and gun, seeking out a target. It turned out to be one of guards who had branded him. John's shot was perfect, the bullet hitting the guard just above his Adam's apple, and he fell to the floor, blood pooling around his neck. John walked swiftly into the room, looking down at the body. He could still feel the pain across his back and thighs, and could remember with sick clarity the words decorating his skin.

He'd killed him too quickly, John thought. The man should have suffered, should have been tormented like he had. John was remorsful that he'd granted the guard such a quick, merciful death. But there wasn't any other option, he rationalised. Making them suffer was a luxury he wanted to indulge in, but couldn't. The necessity was that they all died, and if he wasted time hurting them, the risk of getting caught and killed increased dramatically.

John's body was thrumming with nerves, his muscles were tense and aching already from the stress he was exerting on his wounded body, but his mind was clear, for the first time in days John was thinking in a clear and concise manner, very detached from his emotions. He knew that later when he was safe and warm, he would get emotional, that he'd allow himself to feel what he'd been through, but he couldn't afford that now. He was close to the end, too close to give in to any weakness in any form and sometimes emotions were a weakness.

John killed two more guards together as they rushed past him, looking at their limp bodies to ascertain whether they were on his list of targets. They weren't but in as far as he was concerned, the more people involved in this macabre situation he killed, the better. He knelt down to steal the clip from one of the guard's gun and shoved it into his pocket, just in case he needed the extra ammo.

He couldn't hear the fighting anymore, but didn't know whether it was because the fighting had ceased or cause he'd simply moved too far away. It wasn't really important, John thought, either way, he still had a mission to do. The only other thing he cared about was the other prisoners, he wanted them safe and far away from this horrible place, which was odd because he'd never really given a damn about them before. Still, he knew that Ford and Markham were taking care of it, so he pushed the thought out of his mind.

The soft sound of someone's voice reached John's ears causing him to pause and listen carefully. It was male, not surprising, and only took John seconds to identify the voice, a grim smile curled John's lips. Gripping the gun tightly in his hand, John rested against the wall for a minute to think up a plan. He could just charge into the room and shoot, but that would be too merciful and this bastard didn't deserve mercy.

Taking a deep breath, John inched forward and kicked the door open, gun up and aiming even as he walked forward. He had jumped up when John entered, hands coming up to show that he was unarmed. John spared a moment to think about what a fucking worthless piece of shit the man was before pulling the trigger. The bullet created a gleaming red hole in the palm of the man's hand and he collapsed to his knees with a pitiful wail.

John shook his head and shot him again, this time in the thigh, being careful to avoid the major arteries and muscles. He didn't want him to die too soon. The guard wailed again, tears leaking from his eyes and he stared up at John with a mixture of horror, desperation and fear.

"You're a fucking pathetic Keeshaw!" John hissed, glaring down at him. "I spent all this time at your mercy and never once could you break me. But I put two fucking bullets in you and you're cryin' and moanin' like a fucking baby!"

John backhanded Keeshaw, hard, and he sprawled onto the ground, whimpering and shaking. He looked up at John and opened his mouth to speak, but a quick kick to the stomach prevented that.

"You think it was fun Keeshaw?" John brought his booted foot down hard on Keeshaw's side. He heard the sick sound of a rib cracking and felt a spark of triumph within. "Did you think it was a right ol' laugh to humiliate and degrade me and the others like that? Well guess what? I'm not fuckin' laughing!"

John gave another kick to Keeshaw's stomach, hard enough that he coughed up a little bit of blood and bile. John looked down at Keeshaw for a moment, trying to calm the raging storm of hatred and violence that was brewing in him. His hands itched with the need to punch and pull and strangle and hurt him. He'd spent all this time of suffering his violence, forcing himself to not react, to not let it affect him, and now he was the one in control. John could do anything to Keeshaw and he _really_ wanted to.

John took another deep breath and pushed his hair out of his eyes. Keeshaw had struggled to his knees and John gave him another casual yet powerful kick before kneeling down in front of him, the gun held loosely in his hand but also in front of Keeshaw's face. John quirked an eyebrow when he saw how Keeshaw's eyes fixed on it, wide with fear. What a fucking coward.

"You wanna know what you're biggest mistakes was?" John asked quietly. "It was dragging my friend it to this shit hole and then hurting him. Because no one hurts my friends, my _family_ without answering to me."

John pressed the barrel of the gun against Keeshaw's forehead and looked into his terrified, pale blue eyes. The sound of the gun firing didn't even make John flinch, nor did the blood that splattered onto his cheek. He watched with grim satisfaction as the light disappeared from Keeshaw's eyes and his body went limp, the limpness that only comes with death. Then he stood up and left, mentally scratching one name off his list of victims.

* * *

Thirty minutes later and John only had one target left. His left shoulder was aching, but that probably had to do with the bullet buried somewhere in his flesh. He'd tied a temporary tourniquet around it but knew that he needed to get some proper medical attention soon. It was a distant thought, though, just an automatic note sent to his consciousness by his ever-practical brain. 

After five minutes of aimless wandering, John walked into an empty room and let himself relax for a minute, taking note of his sweat-soaked skin, his panting breath and pounding heart. John slumped to the floor, resting his head against the wall, and just let himself breath for a little while, feeling the adrenaline that still rushed through his veins. He was so close, just one more death and he would finally be free of this place. So close…

But, as usually happened in his life, things weren't that easy. John had one target left, but no idea how to find him. He didn't even know if the man was still in the building, it would just be like that slimy rat to tuck tail and run when things got bad. John started to think that he should've kept one of the guards alive, made him tell her when Forza was. But he'd been so caught up in the killing, the bloodlust, that he hadn't stopped to think about that.

Sighing John closed his eyes, relaxing his grip on the gun. His fingers were hurting, hell his whole hand was starting to cramp up from holding the gun for so long, and after a moment's hesitation John put it gently on the floor in front of him, wiggling his fingers and clenching and un-clenching his fist.

John needed a plan. For once, his usual strategy of just charging in head-first wouldn't work, mainly because he didn't know which direction to charge in. If he knew where Forza was, then he'd just grab his gun, check his ammo, and run after him, but he could be anywhere. John shouldn't have spent so much time killing the guards. Yes, they'd been important people to kill, he'd fulfilled his silent promise to Rodney, to kill everyone who touched him and Rodney, but Forza was a lot more important. He was the big fish, his personal, private personification of evil and wickedness. When Forza was dead, when his warm blood coated John's hands, he would finally be able to rest. If he escaped, if he fled before John could kill him, Forza would always haunt him, John could feel it. It was like he was locking away this horrid experience, burying it deep in his mind, pushing it out of his heart, and Forza's death was the final brick, the last shovel of dirt, the snap of the lock.

John shook his head to clear it, berating himself for letting his mind wander, he had to remain focused. Just a little while longer, then he could rest. John kept repeating that in his head like a mantra as he forced herself to stand up. He had to think calmly, logically. There was always a way, always a solution, he just had to find it.

He looked around and noticed a desk sitting in the room, for the first time. Cautiously John walked over and sat down, flipping through all the papers that were spread across the desk top. He wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for and spent a few minutes searching through folders. He found a list of names that he assumed were people who paid to see the fights, he also found another list of names that had a date listed next to it. John recognised a couple and knew that it was a list of dead fighters.

After a few minutes of searching, John found more than he could have hoped for - a map of the building, including a secret corridor that appeared to lead away from the building. Bingo. John studied the map, noting the various entrances to the corridor, and figured out that the nearest one was just a few doors down from where he was. Picking up his gun, John checked the ammo and then set off again, walking swiftly down the hall until he found the right office. John strode to the back wall, and felt around near the bottom until he found the small little depression. Pushing it as hard as he could, he heard a small click and a section of the wall swung inward to reveal a secret passageway.

It was dim, lit only by a few lights set into the walls, so John moved slowly, clinging to the wall and straining to hear any movement that wasn't his own. By the time he stopped for a quick breather John knew that he'd traveled well beyond help if he should need it, not that he actually cared about that.

He knew from the map which direction to go in and began walking at a brisk pace. John had no idea how far ahead Forza was or if he'd even actually reached the end of the corridor yet, Forza could be anywhere on the planet and John would never find him. That thought spurred John on, made him ignore the needles of pain that shot through his body, until he was nearly running.

Logical thought fled John's brain descending into the most primitive of states that was often ignored by the average person. It was the state of the hunter, the killer, where nothing mattered but catching his prey and killing it. Even the Pit hadn't forced John to this level of primal thought, not quite, though it was similar. It was strange and he knew that later, when he could afford to, he would think about it, study the way he had thought and acted when this primal mood had settled over him. But for now, John merely used it, twisted it to his advantage, let it rule his body and trusted that it would help him survive.

John had known that Forza was evil and deserved to be thrown to the Wraith. He'd known that Forza was manipulative, sadistic and greedy. John had known that the man was easily angered and controlling of every aspect in his life. What John hadn't known was that Forza was a weak, pathetic little man that was easily scared. He found that out after just a few minutes of entering the corridor, when he'd managed to locate a soft, whimpering sound. It was distinctly male and accompanied by the heavy, uneven tread of someone trying to run and failing.

Shaking his head in disgust, John quickened his pace, tightening his grip on the gun in his hand until his knuckles were white and the sharp edges dug into his palm hard enough to break the skin. John focused on that pain, studying the feeling as it mingled with the various other pains until it was just a wash of feeling through his body. It was Forza's fault, all of the pains, aches, bruises and cuts were, in one way or another, Forza's fault. Forza had hurt him, and now John was going to hurt him. Simple as that.

There was a slight curve in the corridor ahead of him and John paused before rounding it, preparing himself for what he knew was about to happen. Then he slipped around the bend and looked at the man who was solely responsible for every ounce of pain he'd suffered in the past months. John was surprisingly calm about seeing him, staring at his back as he stumbled and staggered along the tunnel, whimpering and snivelling like the pathetic weasel he was. John was angry, yes, and he really wanted to see Forza's blood splattered against the ground, but it was a distant feeling, held back by the practical logic of the hunter. He couldn't afford for his emotions to have any sway over him and this situation, couldn't afford to let his anger overwhelm him. John had a mission, a job, and he wouldn't, couldn't, fail.

John's first kick was perfectly aimed, his foot connecting with the back of Forza's knee with enough force to dislocate it. Forza screamed and crumpled to the ground, rolling over onto his back so that he could see his attacker and when he did, he let out another shrill cry.

John didn't waste any time, landing three more kicks in quick succession, one to Forza's already injured knee, crushing the bones under his boot, and two to the stomach, knocking the air out of the man's lungs and making him gag on bile and spit. He rolled over and struggled to get to his feet. John let him, watching impassionately, the hunter urging him to kill Forz now, to finish this whole thing. But the real him, the being John thought had been driven out, temporarily by the hunter, held that desire back, wanting more satisfaction, wanting to see this pathetic excuse for a man suffer.

Forza had managed to get to his feet, supporting himself almost entirely on his left foot, one hand pressed against the wall in an effort to steady his swaying body. He had his back to John and when he managed to turn around, hopping and shuffling, John caught a glimpse of silver. His mind immediately recognised the half-glimpsed object and he dived to the side, the bullet whistling past him with a sudden explosion of sound that echoed in the corridor.

Forza was surprisingly competent with the gun, tracking John's movement and firing another shot that had John flipping out of the way, brushing aside the great wave of pain that the move caused. John landed in a crouch, aiming his own gun and squeezing the trigger in one movement, the bullet hitting Forza's bicep. Forza howled again and John used the momentary distraction to knock the gun out of his hand, seeing it spin away and not caring where it landed, just so long as it was away from Forza's hand. He followed up with a hard, bone-breaking punch to the jaw, delighting in the howl of pain that quickly turned into a whimper when Forza realised that his jaw was broken.

"You're fucking pathetic, Forza" John hissed, the first sounds he'd made since entering the tunnel, not realising that he was echoing the words he'd said to Keeshaw, using the same, venomous tone. "You're a pathetic, sad, miserable excuse for a man. I can't believe I spent all this time being afraid of you!"

John punched Forza again, but not as hard this time, and sent him sprawling to the ground, blood and spit dribbling down his chin. He looked down at Forza, evaluating the damage he had inflicted and trying to decide if it was enough. It wasn't, but then, it never really would be. No matter what John did, no matter how much pain and suffering he inflicted on Forza, it would never compare to the torture he had put him through, both physical and mental. Nothing would compare to the feeling of losing himself, his mind, his fucking soul. Nothing would erase the damage Forza had done, give John back the precious few shards of innocence he'd managed to cling to over the years. And when John realised that, he realised that this was all pointless. Raising his gun John prepared to shot Forza when he heard the sound of foot steps coming up behind him. John never took his eyes off Forza, John recognized the sound of standard military issue boots when he heard them.

"Major!" John heard Ford but didn't turn to acknowledge the Lt. "Put the gun down sir, it's over let's go home, you don't need to kill him."

"Give me one good reason why I don't need to kill this worthless mother fucker." John's tone of voice dripped with hatered.

"Because you are not a cold blooded killer." It was Teyla who spoke that time, her tone just as calm as John remembered.

For what felt like an eternity nobody moved or said a word. John kept the gun on Forza, Forza stayed completely still silently begging for his life, and Ford and Teyla watched their CO and friend. The loud explosion of the gun firing echoed through the silent corridor, catching Ford and Teyla off guard causing them to jump slightly. John had put a bullet right through Forza's throat bringing forth a small river of crimson liquid. Looking at the limp, broken, bloody body of his former capture John tried to feel something, joy, triumph, relief, anything. He couldn't. Dropping the gun John turned to his teammates.

"That's exactly what I am." John whispered acceptingly as he walked past a shocked Teyla and Ford, back down the corridor a little way before stopping and bracing himself against the wall with one arm.

Sighing, John closed his eyes and felt a deep, painful shudder run through his body, letting the hunter dissolve into nothing as his true self took control of his thought processes again. Once he'd regained control John turned and walked back down the corridor, ignoring the heavy, throbbing pain that was slowly taking over his body now that he had completed his mission. By the time he reached the end of the corridor, John was shuffling and having to steady himself with a hand to the wall. Ford and Teyla followed at a respectful distance instinctively knowing that John needed to walk out under his own power.

John wondered absently what everyone in Atlantis would say when they saw him. What would Carson think of his thin, malnourished body? What would Ford think of the mind-numbing weariness that was evident in the way he walked? What would Teyla think when she glimpsed the aching nothingness in his heart? What would Elizabeth think when he told her Rodney was dead and he was responsible?

That thought made John pause, realising that his mission wasn't quite over yet. The prisoners were free, the guards dead, Forza dead, but Rodney… Rodney was dead, too and the others in Atlantis didn't know that yet. He had to tell them.

Shaking his head, John continued walking. He was close to the exit, he knew that from the map, and he began walking there automatically, trying to figure out just what he was going to say, something that was made harder by the painful need for sleep and a lot of medication. John still hadn't thought of anything when he stepped out of the building and realised that freedom, real, true to God freedom was just a few feet away. That thought pushed all other thoughts to the side and John stumbled forward, tripping over his own feet in his desire to get outside.

Thick, grey clouds hid the sky from his view, shrouding the moon and stars, but John didn't care because the sky wasn't important. Taking a deep breath, dragging the clean, crisp air into his lungs John dropped to his knees. Free, he was free.

John didn't hear the surprised exclamations, nor the worried murmurs that followed, so when hands suddenly closed around his shoulders, old instincts kicked in and John jerked himself free, jumping up and back, aiming his gun at the assailant before he realised who it was. John stared in disbelief at Carson, who was tense with shock and fear. Absently, John lowered the gun and took a cautious step forward, not daring to believe, his mind insisting that this was some cruel trick, a wicked hallucination cooked up by his morbid imagination.

"Major?"

No one else John knew had that voice, that scottish accent. It was a completely unique sound and utterly unfakeable. Only one person had that sound. John's heart thudded painfully within his chest as he let out a breath he hadn't been aware he was holding.

"Doc." Dropping to his knees again, John didn't tense or jerk away when Carson tentatively put his hands on John's shoulders. John stared at his hands and slowly let the gun clatter to the ground. He was free, he was safe. John repeated it in his head like a mantra, but it was too much for his mind to handle, so he did the only thing he really could do; pass out.


	8. Home

John was tired of their questions. He was in the briefing room, sat as far away from Elizabeth, Carson, Aiden, Teyla, Kate, and Bates as he could get and still be in the same room. The group pelted him with question after question about what had happened. John wanted, now that he actually had the option, to be heavily drugged and preferably unconscious. He wanted to lie in a soft, warm bed and think of absolutely nothing. He wanted to not have to answer questions that he really didn't give a flying fuck about.

Sighing, John fidgited in his seat, a grimace of pain washed over his expression as various wounds reminded him of their presence. Elizabeth stopped in mid-question to look at him curiously, and blinked at the scowl she received. John licked his lips and stared at his hands, clenching them into fists. He opened his mouth to speak but found that the words died on his lips. John's eyes burned with unexpected tears and he blinked them back, refusing to show such weakness.

"Look you all want some answers fine. The basic gist of it is I was kidnapped by a sadistic fuck named Forza..." John began, his voice hoarse with repressed emotion. He refused to look at anyone, staring at his hands as if they were all that existed in the world. It was easier to speak that way, easier to explain the gruesome details if he pretended he was speaking to himself.

"He was randomly kidnapping people from various planets and making them fight each other for the enjoyment of other sadistic fucks just like him. He made quite a bit of money that way, and I was his best fighter. I… killed, other people, to save my own skin, and I… I didn't care. If it meant I lived, I'd kill anyone. Until they brought Rodney in. I couldn't… couldn't fight, I wouldn't fight and neither would he. So the guards took us and… and they tortured us. I was first, and it was brutal. It hurt so fucking much, but I never gave in, never asked for it to stop. But then… then they moved to Rodney. He was strong, he lasted a lot longer than most people would, but… after a while… he couldn't… he couldn't take it anymore and gave in, agreed to fight, I had no choice after that. We were put back in the Pit and…and we fought. Rodney put up one helluva fight, I'll admit it was the hardest fight I fought the whole time I was in there. It was close, but I'd had more practise, I'd worked harder on my skills, had the experience and in the end…I...I...I won. I killed him...I fucking killed him."

John finally looked up, letting his eyes sweep over everyone's face, and he wondered how they were going to react, where their emotions would lead them.

"You killed him?" Sgt. Bates broke the silence, his voice seeming impossibly loud after the tense silence. "With all due respect sir, Dr. McKay was your friend! How could you just fucking kill him?"

Bates had more to say John could tell, but he was in no mood to listen to the Sgt. rant and rave. There was no point, John knew what Bates was going to say and had no interest in actually hearing it, so John cut him off.

"What was I supposed to do let him kill me?" John asked his voice icy and sharp.

"You should know as well as I do that he never would have done it, sir! He was a civilan for Christ's sakes he would never have consiously hurt anyone!"

John took a deep breath and refused to lose his temper, working hard at keeping his voice quiet and controlled. "You have no idea what Rodney was capable of, _Sgt_." John placed heavy emphasis on Bates' rank. "He wasn't Mr. Perfect and Innocent, like he wanted everyone to think, at least not once Forza and his people got their hands on him. He was trying to kill me just like I was trying to kil him. I just got lucky and killed him first."

"And who gave you that fucking right, _Major_? You never should have even fought in the first place! You should have waited, should have stalled them, until we found you! We were looking for you, we've been searching ever since you first disappeared, we would have found you! You didn't have to fucking kill him!"

Before he quite knew what he was doing, John was standing up, pulling his torn shirt off and throwing it on to the floor so that he could pull at the few bandages Carson had put over his wounds in the jumper. John was vaguely aware that Bates had stopped talking and was just staring at him - as were the others - but that wasn't important, nothing was important apart from the seething storm of fury within him.

"Why don't you all take a good fucking look!" John hissed speaking to everyone in the room, but never taking his glaring eyes off of Bates, as he held his arms out to display his half-naked body. "This is what I fucking suffered for him! I could have stopped it at any fucking time but I didn't because Rodney was my friend and I didn't want to have to kill him! Don't you dare try to lecture me on what I should have done because I did everything I fucking could. It was Rodney's choice, his fucking choice to go back into the Pit! I had the shit beat out of me because I refused to kill my best friend and what happens I end up doing it any way because that fucking son of a bitch gave in and agreed to fight so that the guards would stop beating on him! You have no idea what the fuck it was like in there Sgt. you would have done the same thing had it been you in that fucking shit hole, so shut the fuck up before I do something that I might not regret tomorrow."

John stormed out of the briefing room, ignoring the others. He didn't have a destination in mind, he was too focused on forcing the anger back, on controlling his breathing and trying to think calm, rational thoughts.

He wasn't really surprised when he ended up in Rodney's quarters, it was just the sort of thing his morbidly fucked up brain would do. John sat down on the bed, clutching the covers in his fists, and wished that he could replay the last five minutes, wished that he could go back and play that scene again. He shouldn't have blown up at Bates like that, though it had served to shut him up. But still, it had been the wrong thing to do, Bates wasn't really that bad of a guy like most people made him out to be, the man was just in shock about what had happened and had reacted poorly.

Sighing, John laid down, trying not to think about who's bed he was on. He gazed across the room at the desk, looking at the various pictures and notes that were scattered around on it. Tears fell silently from John's eyes and he brushed them away angrily, rolling onto his back and staring at the ceiling.

John wondered what would happen in the morning, when the harsh light of day flooded the dark facts of his experiences. He wondered how everyone would react once they'd got past the shock. He wondered how they would treat him, when all was said and done. He wondered if he'd be locked up in the brig for the rest of his life - not that he didn't deserve it, because that was the least he deserved. John wondered if he even cared.

* * *

It was the feeling of someone else in the room that woke John up. For a second, as sleep still clung to him, he thought he was back with Forza, that he was about to be forced to fight and be tormented again, but then the soft feel of the bed reached John's senses and he remembered what had happened. Opening his eyes, John sat up to find Elizabeth standing by the window. 

"We were all worried about you, John." Elizabeth spoke without turning around. "We had no idea what had happened, where you'd gone, what was happening to you… None of us thought it would be this bad, though. What they did to you…. Jesus, John I can't believe you survived it. I knew you were tough but it would have broken anyone. And don't worry about what happened with Bates. He along with the rest of us will understand, eventually it'll just take some time. Now come on, I'm supposed to escort you to the infirmary."

Yes, that sounded like a wonderful plan, John stood up with only a faint grimace of pain. Elizabeth noticed it though, John could tell by the slight narrowing of her eyes, but she didn't comment on it. They walked in silence for a little bit, but John knew that it wouldn't last; he could feel the questions pressing against his mind, waiting to spill from his lips. John didn't want to ask it, was afraid of the answer and wanted to remain in blissful ignorance, but he'd never been very good at keeping quiet. If even only one person understood what he'd done and why he'd done it, John, for some reson, needed that person to be Elizabeth.

"Do you…" John stopped before he could actually speak the question, but it was too late anyway. Elizabeth was looking at him, waiting for him to finish. John sighed, crossing one arm in front of his stomach and feeling pain bite its way through his body from the touch. He took an odd form of comfort from it, telling himself that if he had survived that, he could survive Elizabeth's answer. Hopefully. The other he used to rub at the back of his head.

"Do you… blame me? For what I… For Rodney?"

Elizabeth echoed John's earlier sigh and was silent for a couple of seconds. John kicked himself for asking, shouting at his stupid lack of self-control.

"I'd be lying if I said no, but I'd also be lying if I said yes." Elizabeth replied eventually, "I'll admit I don't understand how you could have made the choice you did and I may never fully understand. To me it seems like an easy choice: you don't fight, don't kill. But then again I've never been in that situation, so I have no way of knowing what I really would've done. For all I know I would have done the same thing. I may not know what was going through your's or Rodney's head specifically, but I do like to think I have some pretty good insight into human nature and kill or be killed… it's the most basic, primal of choices we can make as humans and… in that reguard you probably made the right choice."

"So… If I had let Rodney win, that would've been...the wrong choice?"

"No."

John nodded and thought about what Elizabeth had said until they reached the infirmary. Carson, Aiden, Teyla, and Kate were all there waiting. John hesitated in the doorway, not sure why he was so unwilling to enter.

"Major?" Kate asked uncertainly, taking a small step forward. "John, if you're feeling up to it we'd like to know what happened. By the looks of things you haven't told us everything that happened. In fact you haven't told us much at all." John scowled, not making any attempt to hide the signs of his torture.

"What more is there to say?" John asked in a tone that was barely above a growl. "I wouldn't fight Rodney, they tortured us, and burned me with a fucking branding iron. That pretty much sums up most of it and gives you a pretty fucking good idea of what my life's been like for the past few months. Only now it's over, and I can rest, so all I want is for some fucking pills so that I don't have to worry about nightmares. I also want Carson to examine and tend my wounds because frankly, I don't trust the doc that Forza employed, any farther then I could throw him and I really don't want to get an infection. I also don't want to be asked more questions. They can wait. Clear?"

John noticed that Teyla was watching him with sharp, narrowed eyes but quickly averted his gaze, he didn't want her to see the dark pain in his eyes. Next his eyes landed on Aiden, who was staring at him slightly in shock and… something else. It was close to pity, but had an element of something else that John didn't recognise.

Something inside John cracked just a little at the sight because it was the personification of losing innocence, of realising that the world was not all sunshine and bubblegum and that people couldn't stay innocent and young forever, not if they wanted to survive. Sure Aiden was in the military and would've learned all of that in time, but it was to soon to be learning that lesson now, Aiden was still young and a bit naive he should of had a few more years before learning that lesson.

John sighed and walked inside the room so that he could sit down on one of the beds. "I'm sorry." He muttered. "I don't mean to be so harsh, but I've been through a lot. I just want a little time to sort things out before I get the third degree. Please?"

Elizabeth let out a heavy breath and nodded her acquiescence. "Alright, John, you can have some time." Elizabeth turned her attention to Carson. "And I'll want a full report from you when you're done."

"Aye, now everyone out." Carson started ushering everyone out of the infirmary.

"Um-" John cursed himself for speaking as everyone turned to look at him, but decided that he really had to know, so he gathered his courage and spoke. "Did you find Rodney's body?"

For a second, no one spoke, but then Aiden released a heavy breath and shook his head. "No, we looked but, no dice, sir."

"Then they must've burnt it," John murmured to himself. "I'd always wondered what they did with the corpses. I mean, just from the fights while I was there, there had to have been dozens of fights, and they had to have been going for a good while beforehand so…." John looked up and saw that they were all looking at him with expressions of shock and horror, even Teyla, but to a lesser degree. He realised, belatedly, that he had to be more careful about what he said, that he couldn't just voice his thoughts whenever he wanted anymore. Carson was the first to recover and ushered everyone out.

Carson waited until the doors had closed before pulling on some gloves and beginning the examination, mostly keeping silent except to ask John a few, standard questions, does this hurt, follow my finger, when were these inflicted… John answered automatically, not paying attention to how Carson poked and prodded and shifted and moved him.

It was over remarkably quickly, John's wounds were quickly washed and redressed, and then Carson was handing him a couple of small white pills and a little cup of water. John popped the pills dry, ignoring the water, and climbed under the thin sheets, staring at the ceiling until Carson left.

* * *

John once again woke up to the feeling of someone watching him. He swallowed back a sigh and opened his eyes. Aiden was sitting on the bed next to John's, watching him with a mixed expression of thoughtfulness and worry. John remained silent, watching him calmly, waiting for whatever was about to happen. 

"How'd you do it, sir?" The younger man asked suddenly. John blinked before sitting up, pushing his hair out of her eyes - making a mental note to get a hair cut - and tried to figure out what to say.

"You know Ford I could try to give you some heartfelt meaningful explaination, but it'd just be a buch of bull shit. The truth, I did it because I'm fucking bastard who didn't want to die, so I killed others just to save my own ass." John stated flatly.

Aiden nodded slightly and silence fell again. John wondered what else Aiden wanted to ask, or say, and when he would go away.

"I'm sorry, sir." Aiden said in a voice that was barely above a murmur, and John frowned.

"For what?"

"For everything…for not finding you sooner. For everything you went through. I'm really sorry, sir."

Despite himself, John couldn't help smiling a little and it made Aiden smile back at him cautiously. "It's alright Ford I don't blame you. I don't blame anyone in the city, never did, never will."

Aiden let a relieved grin form and opened his mouth to say something else when Carson walked in.

"Alright Lt. out. Major, how are you feeling today?"

John nodded vaguely at Aiden as the younger man left, and then thought about Carson's question, evaluating both his body and mind. "A bit of a dull ache all over, but pretty good, considering."

"Good to hear. Now, I've got some nicely coloured pills here for you and I know you're not too fond of needles but I have a couple of injections I'd like to give you."

"After what I've been through, you could hack off a limb and I wouldn't care at the moment."

Carson grimaced, but didn't comment. John endured another bout of poking and prodding, swallowing the pills handed to him and not flinching when Carson gave him a couple of injections.

"Do you feel up to talking yet?" Carson asked when it was over, taking off his gloves and tossing them in the bin. John wanted to say no, not yet, please don't make me talk about it all, but he knew that he couldn't put it off forever, so he just nodded silently. Carson walked with John to the briefing room, where Elizabeth, Aiden, Teyla, and Kate were all waiting, ready to hear just about every little detail of John's gruesome tale.

* * *

A/N: Ok I'm thinking another two chapters and this story will be finished. They should be up either tonight or tommorow.  



	9. Poetic Justice

John was tired. No, that was an understatement, he was mind-numbingly exhausted. His body ached and not just from the healing wounds but also from finally being able to relax after months of constant tension. His mind was blank, his thoughts sluggish and fuzzy, only half realised before fading away like wisps of smoke. John laid on the bed, staring up at the ceiling of the infirmary, letting the quiet music of his favourite Johnny Cash CD wash over him.

It was over. After all those long, painful, shadow-filled days, after all the pain and sorrow, all the struggles and fights, it was finally, blessedly over. Forza was dead, Keeshaw was dead, ninety percent of the guards were dead and every guard who'd tortured him and Rodney was dead, the prisoners were free and getting long-needed medical attention and for those who wanted it, getting counselling… it was over, it was really over.

John couldn't comprehend the fact, couldn't understand how his world could suddenly be normal again. It was too sudden, too unexpected, there had been no dramatic buildup or cryptic clues. One minute, he was being forced to fight for the sadistic satisfaction of a now-dead bastard and the next, he was lying in a comfy, warm bed in the infirmary. John didn't have to fight for his survival any more, didn't have to worry about getting killed, didn't have to hide in the corners, hoping and praying that the guards would chose someone else to torment tonight. It didn't make any sense.

John sighed and rolled onto his side, wincing as small flickers of pain fought their way through the medications Carson had given him, to remind him that he was still healing.

How could he explain it? John knew that they all wanted to ask even more questions, wanted to know, to understand, what had happened to him, but he didn't know how to put it into words. How could he hope to explain the terrifying horror of being kidnapped and forced to fight, and kill others, while people watched and cheered? How could he tell them that he wasn't the person they knew, that he'd been changed by his experiences?

Because in the end, that's what it came down to, he'd been changed. Sure before, he'd been a bit of a cynic as well as jaded, but deep down he'd still been innocent, in some respects. Now he wasn't. And what made it worse was that John knew he didn't belong here, in this place, any more. He didn't belong in the bright, sunshiny world that the others lived in. John couldn't share in their happiness and laughter, couldn't join in with their fun and games. He belonged in the shadows, with tears and blood and pain.

John wasn't sure why he thought of it, or even when. It seemed like the thought had always been there, lurking in the back of his mind, waiting for the right moment, because once he did think it, it seemed terribly simple and so very right. It would hurt them, and he knew that they probably wouldn't understand, but he couldn't bring himself to care about that. It was the only answer, and he accepted it gracefully.

Forcing his drug-heavy body to move, John sat up, it took more effort than he would have liked. Taking a moment he tried to gain some control over his body. Walking proved to be a bit of a difficulty, but John found that if he took it slow and put one hand on the wall for balance, he could walk in a relatively straight line. The corridor was thankfully empty and after a few steps John realized that, that was probably do to the fact that it was the middle of the night. Good, that meant there was less chance of running into someone.

John managed to get to his quarters and then out to the southwest pier without being spotted. John stood for a moment, catching his breath and letting the moon light soak into his skin. It felt strange, to be standing in the moon light with a soft breeze brushing against his skin. Just another little reminder that he didn't belong in this happy world anymore.

John glanced back over his shoulder at the city, wishing for a moment that he could say goodbye to them in person. He wanted to tell Aiden that he was sorry, that he wished things had turned out differently. He wanted to thank Teyla for understanding him, better than most peole. He wanted to thank Carson for all the times he'd saved his life. He wanted to thank Elizabeth for bringing him along with the expedition, for giving him a second chance at having a family and for giving him a place to call home.

John sighed and looked away from the city, staring at his bare feet as he pulled out a knife, it was the same knife he'd used to kill Rodney. Nobody else knew John had it, he'd found it when he was looking for Forza and the others, but hadn't told anyone about it. For a second, he found himself unable to move, too scared to go forward and unable to go back, but then the second passed and slashed at his wrists before plunging the knife into his chest.

To John it was a kind of poetic justice, that the very same knife that had been used to take Rodeny's life, was now taking his life. Slumping against the wall John slid down it feeling the life drain out of him. Thinking back over his life John realized that his only real big regret - besides killing his best friend - was that the others would never truly understand why he was doing this, why there was no other choice. Staring out at the ocean John let a small smile form as the world, the pain, the sorrow, all of it faded away, finally letting him be free.

* * *

A/N: Ok now before you all try to kill me remember that there is one more chapter (which I'm working on at this very moment) and I promise that everything will work out. I'm sure you'll all be both surprised and happy with the ending cause everything will work out I promise. 


	10. False Memory

A/N: Alright folks this is it the long awaited ending. Hopefully you'll all by happy with the way I ended this.

small reference to the Stargate SG-1 episode 'Gamekeeper'.

* * *

The sudden sounds around him made John's head pounded. Cautiously opening his eyes John was blinded by a harsh white light and quickly closed them again. Taking a moment to think about where he was John realized he was in the infirmary and let out a slight groan; someone must have found him. Taking a deep breath John gradually cracked his eyes open again and found himself staring at Rodney. 

_'Great now I'm hallucinating.' _John thought as he stared at the form of his dead friend.

It was Rodney's turn to sit watch over John, while the others went about grabbing some food and getting some rest. Rodney sat in a hard backed chair next to John's bed, working on his lap top. Only the sound of the medical equipment and Rodney's typing disturbed the stillness in the infirmary. Apart from John, who now lay hooked up to a myriad of machines, there was no one else in the infirmary. No one was sure what exactly had happened to John on MX-2368, it was supposed to have been an over night mission but while the team had been exploring the planet on the first day nature had paid John a little visit and he'd had gone off by himself to take care of it. When he didn't return and wouldn't answer their radio calls the team had started seaching for him.

It had taken several hours of searching, but John was eventually found unconsious in a small cave hooked up to a machine - Lt. Ford had said it reminded him of the VR machines SG-1 had encountered on P7J-989 - and a message that said 'One must experience the horrors of the past in order to insure they are never repeated' there was also some writings on the cave walls that the linguist were working to translate. As soon as Rodney, with the help of Radek, had gotten him free, John had immediately been brought back to Atlantis and had yet to regain consiousness; that had been two days ago.

A quiet groan disturbed Rodney from his work causing him to look up towards John. Setting the laptop aside Rodney stood over John's bed as he stirred. When John's eyes opened Rodney frowned at the confusion and anguish he saw in John's eyes.

"It's about time you woke up and stopped being lazy Major." John flinched away when Rodney rested a hand against his arm. "I'll go find Carson." Rodney was worried about the way John was acting; John had never really been one to flinch away from physical contact no matter how hurt he was.

"You're dead." John's whispered statement caught Rodney off guard.

"Well for a dead guy I feel pretty alive." Rodney turned back to face John. The lifeless and emotionless eyes that stared back at him caused Rodney to pause and wonder if he really had gotten his friend back.

"Figures even as an hallucination you'd have to be a jackass and mock me." John tore his eyes away from Rodney and stared at the celling.

Coming out of his office Carson allowed a small smile to form when he noticed that John was awake. Moving towards John's bed Carson stopped when Rodney grabbed his arm and pulled him off to the side.

"Rodney?" Carson didn't like the look he saw on Rodney's face. If Carson didn't know any better he'd say Rodney looked like he'd just lost his best friend.

"Somethings not right with John." Rodney kept glancing at the man lying on the infirmary bed.

"What makes you say that?" Carson was getting concerned; it wasn't everyday he saw Rodney acting like he was right then. "As far as I can tell there's not a scratch on him."

"Oh I don't know, the fact that he thinks he's hallucinating me because I'm supposedly dead was a pretty big clue, but than again I'm not a medical doctor so what do I know?"

"Aye that would be a good clue. Well let's see if we can't figure out what's going on in that head of his." Carson started in the direction of John's bed.

"Major." Carson stopped at John's bed and did a quick check of the machines that were hooked up to John.

"Doc." John didn't look at Carson, just kept his eyes facing the celling.

"I hear you think Rodney's dead."

"I don't think, I know. I should considering I'm the one who did it." John's statement caused Rodney's head to snap up and Carson to stop fiddling with the machines and turn his full attention to John. "But then again I already told you all about that." John finally turned his graze away from the celling to look at Carson and spotted Rodney hovering just behind the Scottsman. "And now I'm hallucinating him."

"Major...John...I don't know what you think has happened, but I'm not dead, I really am standing right here. You're not hallucinating me." Rodney tried convincing John.

"Yeah that's what they all say. I'm not a hallucination, I'm real believe me." John stared Rodney right in the eyes. "I'm the one who killed you, so trust me when I say you're dead. Now leave me the fuck alone I don't need insane added to the list of my problems."

"John listen to me. You...Are...Not...Hallucinating, Rodney really is standing right here." Carson went to lay a gental hand on John's shoulder, but stopped when John flinched away.

John stared at Carson like the man was crazy. Of course Rodney was standing right there, but Carson shouldn't have be able to see him, Rodney was a hallucination after all and John was pretty sure people weren't supposed to be able to see other people's hallucinations.

Sitting up John realized that he hadn't been restrained, which he found odd considering he'd just tried to kill himself. Looking down at his wrists John noticed that there were no bandages and now that he thought about it his body didn't have that dull aching feeling either. Confused and beginning to panic a bit John pulled the scrub shirt he'd been wearing off and was shocked to find that there were no burn marks, no scars, no nothing, he didn't have a scratch on him.

"John?" Startled by the hand on his shoulder John jumped, pushing himself back away from the hand.

Falling off the bed on the other side John scurried across the floor until his back met with the wall. Worried about the loud erratic beeps the heart monitor was beginning to give off Carson rounded the bed and found John backed into the corner. His eyes were wide and filled with confusion and panic, but what really surprised Carson was the fear in John's eyes. There was true to God fear in John's eyes, Carson didn't think he would ever see something like that from John.

"What...the...fuck?" John was beginning to hyperventilate, but didn't care. "This isn't right...I knew me and the big guy up stairs didn't exactly see eye to eye...but even he wouldn't be this much of a fucking bastard and torment me like this."

"Damn it John snap the hell out of it!" Rodney's voice brought John back from his rambling. Looking up John spotted Rodney and Carson crouched down in front of him, past them he could see Elizabeth, Aiden, and Teyla. When the hell had they showen up?

"Stay away from me!" John flinched away from Rodney. "I don't know what the fucks going on, but this isn't real, you're not real. I killed you, God damn it I fucking killed you Rodney! I put a fucking knife right through your God damn heart! And now you expect me to believe you're alive? Shit!"

Feeling his stomach about to rebel on him John lurched off the floor headed towards the closest trash can, making it just in time. Feeling someone rubbing his back John tensed up but didn't have the strength to pull away. John berely registered the feeling of a needle entering his arm, letting the darkness over come him.

* * *

Waking to the sound of voices John fought to keep his body relaxed and his breathing steady, focusing on not giving any indication that he was awake. Straining his ears, John could make out the voices of Carson, Elizabeth, and Rodney. 

"...The machine was appearently a historical archive of some kind." Rodeny was keeping his voice low. "From some of what's been translated so far the last couple of days, it's purpose was to allow a person to 'experience the horrors of the past'."

"Aye, and from what you've told me and from my own tests I'd say that machine some how implanted a false memory of sorts into the Major's mind, using elements from his own life to make it seem more real."

"It makes sense. From what I understand the leader of the people that used to live on the planet did something so horrible that the people wanted to make sure no one ever considered doing it again and what better way than to make a person experience it." Elizabeth spoke up.

"So the last few months never happened?" I didn't spend two months in that fucking shit hole, killing others to save my own ass, I didn't kill Rodney?" John didn't realize he'd said that out loud until he noticed Elizabeth had stopped talking and that she along with Rodney and Carson were now looking at him.

"How are you feeling, Major?" Carson shifted into doctor mode, doing a quick check of the machines showing John's vitals. Carson was careful to not to touch John remembering how he'd reacted the last time someone tried touching him.

"Confused as hell. What's going on?"

"What's the last thing you remember before waking up in the infirmary earlier?" Rodney moved to stand at the foot of the bed, not wanting John to freak out again if he got too close.

The question made John fidget nervously. Trying to think of a way to answer that question with out making everyone think he was crazy and needed to be watched constantly, John licked his lips nervously, refusing to look at either Rodney, Carson or Elizabeth.

"John, please. We need to know what happened. What's the last thing you remember?" Elizabeth took a hold of John's hand ignoring the way he instantly tensed up.

"I...uh...I was uh...trying to kill myself." John whispered his reply so softly the other three almost didn't hear him. Pulling his hand away John rolled onto his side, back facing his friends. Momentarily shocked all Elizabeth, Rodney and Carson could do was look at John, wondering just what the hell it was he'd gone through that made him think death was the only answer.

Pulling herself out of her shock Elizabeth cautiously moved to the other side of John's bed trying to look him in the eyes. With his eyes closed John startled slightly when he felt a hand on his arm. Opening his eyes John quickly adverted his gaze when he saw Elizabeth.

"Why? Why were you trying to kill yourself John?" Elizabeth could tell that John really didn't want to talk about what had happened to him, but the only way she or anyone else was going to be able to help him was if they knew what he'd experienced.

"It dosen't matter. It didn't really happen, it wasn't real. I heard you guys talking, the last two months of my life never really happened, it was a false memory. It's actually only been a few days." John suddenly sat up pulling all the wires off him and tried getting off the bed, only to be held back by Carson and Rodney's arms around him.

"Aye lad, it does matter. You may not have physically experienced those memories, but they're still real, you still have to come to terms with them."

Having Rodney so close, being able to actually touch him, the flood gates opened and John couldn't hold it back anymore. Latching onto his friend John held on as if his life depended on it, apologising over and over again for what he'd done. It didn't matter to John that technically he'd never actually killed Rodney, all that mattered was that Rodney forgave him.

"Easy John, it's ok, it wasn't real. It never really happened. I'm fine, you're fine, everybodies fine. Nobody blames you for anything." Not knowing what else to do Rodney stood there trying to offer his friend what little comfort he could.

"But it did happend, maybe not to us personally, but that place, those people; Forza, Keeshaw, all of them really did exist at one time. The sensless fighting and killing really did happen. And even if I only experienced a recreation of it I can still fucking feel your blood on my hands, still remember the look in you eyes as the life drained out of you. Still remember having the shit beat out of me just so I didn't have to fight you. Remember you giving in and agreeing to fight..." John trailed off feeling anger start to rise at that last memory.

Pushing away from Rodney, John got off the bed and started pacing around the room, trying to keep himself from punching Rodney forcing himself to remember that it didn't really happen, that the son of a bitch hadn't given in and agreed to fight even after John had been tortured so that he didn't have to fight Rodney.

Realizing this was something John and Rodney needed to work out on their own Carson and Elizabeth descreatly moved out of the room leaving the two friends alone to sort things out.

"Hit me." Rodney's out of the blue demand froze John on the spot. "Damn it John fucking hit me! I know you want to, I can see it in your eyes."

Seeing that John wasn't going to make the first move Rodney stepped up to John and swung for all he was worth, knocking the major flat on his ass. The punch really hadn't been all that powerful, but John had been so shocked by it he'd went down like Muhammad Ali himself had just hit him.

Anger pumping through him John was on his feet knocking Rodney flat on his ass, before he even had the chance to think about it. About to take another swing John stopped, arm in mid-swing, and stepped away from the downed scientist, horrified about what he'd just done. Pulling himself off the floor Rodney approached the shaken up major.

"Feel better?" Rodney's question was muffled by the hand holding his bleeding nose.

Taking a moment to think about it, really think about it John let a small grin form. "Yeah, yeah I do a little."

"Good. Now what do you say we get Carson to look at my nose and your eye and then you can tell me just what the hell happened to you exactly."

"Sounds like a plan." John followed after Rodney in search of Carson.

John knew that this wasn't the end of it, that things were liable to get a lot worse before they got better. They may never know who the people were that had built that machine or what had really happened to them, but with the help of Rodney and the others, plus a lot of hours racked up in Kate's office John knew he'd be fine eventually and for the moment that was good enough for him.

* * *

A/N: There you have it, this story is done. See everything more or less worked out in the end and both Rodney and John are alive and kicking (or should that be punching?) and only slightly damaged. 


	11. Alt Ending

A/N: Ok here's an alternate ending for this story. I know the other one was kind of a cliched cop-out, but my muse's wumpage rampage kind of sputered and died out on me and I apologise for that. Hopefully this ending will better fit in with the rest of the story.

I have no real medical knowledge so there's a good chance some of this probably isn't accurate.

* * *

It'd been a rough few days since Carson had discovered John missing from the infirmary. Everyone knew that John had been through hell, but no one had thought that it had been bad enough that he would try to kill himself. If Carson hadn't come to check on John when he had it was a pretty good bet to assume that John would have succeeded, hell there was still a good chance John might not make it. Sure his body was healing, his heart was still beating, his lungs still working, but the mind was a tricky thing and if John truly didn't want to wake up there was nothing Carson or anyone else could do. 

Exiting his office Carson spotted Elizabeth staring out of the window near John's bed. The Scotsman couldn't begin to image how Elizabeth was doing. As soon as he'd realized John was missing Carson had informed Elizabeth and the whole city had been put on alert. Elizabeth had been the one to find the missing Major.

Deep down Carson had known, after discovering John missing, that John wouldn't be in good shape when they found him and he hadn't expected otherwise. But that still hadn't prepared him for what he'd found when arriving at the southwest pier and he was a trained medical profesional.

_(Flashback)_

After reciving a frantic call from Elizabeth, Carson and a small med team quickly rushed down to the southwest pier. Upon arriving at the scene Carson was mometarily frozen in shock, John was lying on the floor surrounded by a rapidly growing pool of blood with Elizabeth kneeling over him holding her scrunched up jacket against his chest. A bloody knife had been discarded off to the side.

Shaking himself out of his shock Carson jumped into action and began to yell out orders. The medics quickly got to work trying to save John's life. While a couple of medics took care of John's wrists, Carson briefly felt for a pulse on John's neck. Finding a very faint one Carson carefully began looking the chest wound over, the knife had pierced very close to John's heart, but luckily it was harder to pierce your own heart than it was someone else's. As soon as they had John stable enough he was loaded onto a gurney and rushed to the infirmary.

(_End flash back_)

"You should get some sleep." Carson, accent thickened from fatigue, spoke. Elizabeth hadn't left the infirmary once since they'd brough John out of surgery.

"I wanted to believe that he was ok, that with a little time and help he'd be fine." Elizabeth leaned her forehead and one hand against the window. "You'd think that after so many years of dealing with people I would..."

"What, lass? Be able to see it coming? Understand the reasons?" Carson moved next to Elizabeth, placing a comforting hand on her shoulder. "No one is ever ready when someone they care about it is prepared to hurt themselves. But we shouldn't really be all that surprised, John has quite literally been through hell. He was forced to kill his best friend, there's no getting over that. To be honest there's a very good possibility that John will keep trying to kill himself until he succeeds, no matter what we do. If he really wants to die he'll find away."

"That's what I'm afraid of." Elizabeth whispered softly, finally pulling her eyes away from the window to look over at John. The moment she found John kept running through Elizabeth's head.

(_flashback_)

A feeling of dread had come over Elizabeth when Carson had informed her that John was missing from the infirmary. After confirming that both John and Rodney's quarters were empty Elizabeth made her way to one of John's favorite spots in the city: the southwest pier. The closer Elizabeth got to the pier the more her feeling of dread grew.

Stepping out onto the pier Elizabeth's stomach nearly rebeled at the site before her. John was sat slumped against the far wall, blood pooling around him at an alarming rate. Rushing over Elizabeth knelt down - ignoring the wetness that seeped into her pants - checking for a pulse. Sighing when she found one Elizabeth radioed Carson telling him she'd found John and that he needed to hurry.

Finshed calling Carson, Elizabeth gently eased John down on his back, pulling her jacket off using it to try and stop the blood flowing out of John's chest. In the back of her mind Elizabeth knew she needed to worry about John's wrists as well, but at the moment the chest wound was the more serious of the injuries.

It felt like an eternity before Carson and the med team arrived. As soon as Carson came rushing through the door Elizabeth moved back letting the man do his job. Elizabeth watched the whole thing with a sense of detachment, like it wasn't her friend lying there dying, like she wasn't really there, all of this wasn't really happening. Realizing that the med team was leaving Elizabeth came crashing back to herself and followed after them.

(_end flashback_)

A saddened silence fell between the two as they watched over their friend. After a few moments of silence Elizabeth couldn't hold them back any longer and a few silent tears slipped down her face. Understanding her need to let it out Carson gently pulled Elizabeth into a gental embrace.

Elizabeth had no idea what she would do if she lost John so soon after losing Rodney; the two men had been not only friends but family to her. It was going to be hard enough when she finally let herself grieve properly for the loss of Rodney, but if she had to grieve for John as well Elizabeth knew it would crush her.

* * *

Having the strange sensation of floating John opened his eyes, only to find himself standing in an empty gate room. Something was different about it though - aside from the eerie lack of people - there was a glowy kind of quality to the room and there was a thin mist surrounding everything. 

"What the fuck?" Confused John stood looking around the room.

"What you don't recognize heaven when you see it?" There was no mistaking that voice. Whirling around John found himself standing face to face with Rodney.

"Well if you're here than this sure as hell ain't heaven." John didn't miss a beat with the bantering.

"You're right it's not, it's more like the Ancient's version of limbo. Basically this place is where you decide to either move on or go back."

"Wait Ancients as in ascended Ancients?"

"Yeah, I know who'd a thought me Dr. Rodney McKay, arrogant, self-centered, egotistical, bastard extrodinare, could reach a higher state of enlightenment and actually ascend?" Rodney had that smug little look he got every time he was right and everybody else was wrong.

"You're ascended?" Yep there was no doubting it now John was in hell.

"Yes. It seems we're not as alone in the Pegasus galaxy as we thought. Appearently the former occupants of our lovely little abode here," Rodney waved his hand around indicating the city, "have been keeping an eye on us. They say they're doing it because they think we have the potential to be the next big step in evolution, but if you ask me I think they're just paranoid we're going to blow their precious city to high hell."

"Yeah that does seem like something you would think." John gazed at Rodney cautiously. "So what am I doing here?"

"You're here to decide if you want to live or die."

"What just like that? No offers of ascension, nothing just live or die?"

"Yes just like that, because you technically can't ascend since you put yourself here. In fact I'm not even supposed to be here, but then again when do I ever listen? I couldn't just sit back and watch you die, I know you John and at this point in time you'd gladly choose death, but I can't let you do that, so I'm here to convince you to live."

"Why? Why would you want me to live? I mean shit Rodeny I fucking killed you! You should want me dead for that, fuck I want me dead for that!" John was having a hard time believing what Rodney was saying.

"You did what you had to do inorder to survive, I don't blame you for that."

"I should have thought of another way. Should have stalled, done something, anything but kill you."

"You really are a self-centered son of a bitch aren't you? I'm the one that made the choice to go back into that fucking pit! I was trying to kill you just like you were me! You have nothing to feel guilty about!" Rodney started pacing around the room gestering wildly with his hands.

"It doesn't matter, I still deserve to die." John turned away from Rodney, his shoulders slumping.

"God damn it you stupid bastard, for the last time you do not deserve to die! I may still be new to this whole ascension thing, but John I can tell you that you're destined for great things in life. The people in Atlantis need you, hell Atlantis needs you, you're probably the best chance anyone has at discovering the city's secrets and bringing it back to it's full glory.

Besides if you die who's going to be there to keep Ford from naming things, who's going to willing get there ass kicked working out with Teyla? Who's going to drive Carson mad with some of the best disappearing acts since Houdini? Who's going to be there to make sure that Elizabeth doesn't work herself to death, that she actually gets out and has some fun every now and then? And fuck John, you're the best damn guinea pig the scientists have if you die then where will they be?"

John couldn't help it, the way Rodney was going on made a small tentive smile form on his face. God he missed listening to Rodney rant and rave. John didn't know if he could keep going with out Rodney around yaking away. There weren't a whole lot of people who talked constantly that John could or would put up with, but with Rodney it was different. Rodney actually knew what he was talking about and for the most part John could keep up with what Rodney said.

With a deep sigh John sat down on the stairs leading up to the control room, running his hands through his hair. Seeing that maybe he was starting to get through to John, Rodney plopped himself down next to the man.

"But what about you?" John turned to look at Rodney. "With out you around who's going to pull cray last minute ideas out of their ass and save the day? Who's going to come up with briliant pranks and be my partner in crime? Who's going to be look out for Zelenka, making sure nobody finds out where he hid his still? Who's going to keep Kavanagh from trying to insight a mutiny?"

"John as hard as it's going to be, you, Ford, Teyla, Carson, Elizabeth, and several others are more than capable of doing all those things, trust me...Look I'm not saying forget about me, just accept that I'm not going to be around like I was before and work past it, but know that I'll always be keeping an eye on you guys and if _you_ ever screw up really big I'll be there to bail you out the best I can."

"Maybe you're right, but that still doesn't make what I did to you ok. I killed you Rodney there's no changing that."

"Here's an idea how about you stop looking at it like you killed me because you know technically I'm not actually dead, I'm ascended. John as weird as this may sound, you did me a favor, you gave me the chance to experience something I never dreamed possible. I'm learning about more things than you could possibly imagine and who knows maybe one day I'll be able to share what I've learned with you, but in the mean time I want you to know that I'm happy with where I am and I want you to be happy. So here's what you're going to do: you're going to promise me you'll never try something like this again, then you're going to wake up and promise everyone else the same thing, then you're going to rack up a lot of hours in Kate's office getting everything in that thick head of yours straight, and you're going to go on with your life."

* * *

Opening his eyes open John found himself staring up at the infirmary ceiling. By the way the lights were dimed he could tell that it was some time late in the night. Looking around John didn't see anyone right away and figured Carson must've kicked them out for the night. Thinking of Carson, John looked towards the doctor's office noticing that the light was still on. If he tried hard enough John could just make out the shape of three people sitting in the office. Figuring who ever was in there would come out evetually John laid his head back down on the pillow and waited. 

Hearing footsteps headed in his direction John cracked open eyes he hadn't realized he'd closed and watched as Elizabeth walked towards his bed, while Carson and Kate stood in the office doorway still discussing something. Seeing John open his eyes Elizabeth's heart jumped slightly and she quickened her pace towards him.

"You're awake." Elizabeth's statement caught Carson and Kate's attention, bringing them over to John's bed as well.

Opening his mouth to speak John realized just how dry his throat and mouth were. Closing his mouth, John tried to signal for a glass of water, it was then he realized that his arms were in restraints. Coughing slightly John looked pleadingly, at the three people standing around his bed and cautiously lifted one arm silently asking to be unrestrained.

"I'm afraid we can't do that just yet John." Kate spoke as Carson helped John take a few sips of water from the glass that had been sitting on the bedside table.

"One arm...few minutes...please?" John croaked out around a tongue that felt a few sizes too big. Seeing their hesitation John swallowed and tried speaking again. "Nothing will happen I promise. Besides I got an itch." Relenting Kate gave a slight nod and Carson untied one of John's arms. Almost as soon as his arm was free John was scratching the back of his head vigorously.

"That bad uh?" Elizabeth couldn't help the hint of humor that slipped into her voice, it was almost like staring at the old John Sheppard again.

"Damn you have no idea how much that was bugging me."

Itch taken care of John put his arm back down and Carson with out really thinking about it put the arm back in the restraint. Not that John blamed him, Carson nor anyone else had much reason to trust him at the moment.

"How are you feeling John?" Carson was in full doctor mode checking over John's injuries.

"Like I want to get the hell out of here and back to my life." Knowing she was his ticket out of there John turned to look Kate straight in the eyes, "What do I gotta do to get out of here?"

"If you behave for Carson, talk with me, and be patient, we'll see what we can do about getting you out of the infirmary." The look in John's eyes told Kate that she could ask him to jump off a bridge and he'd do it if it meant getting out of the infirmary.

"Done, done, and done." John felt relived that Kate was willing to give him a chance.

"John?" The fact that John was agreeing so quickly had Elizabeth feeling a little suspicious, he never agreed to anything like that with out complaing about it first.

"You have nothing to worry about Elizabeth, I swear. If that's what it takes to get out of here and on with my life then that's what I'll do. I'm not ready to give up yet, too many people in this city need me. It took an arrogant, self-centered, egotistical, bastard extrodinare to point that out to me, but I realize that now. Yes it will take some time to get my head back to the level of insanity it was at before this whole fucked up thing started,but I'm willing to do what I have to."

John wasn't about to tell them that the arrogant, self-centered, egotistical, bastard extrodinare was Rodney - they could figure that out on their own - odds were they wouldn't believe him anyway and would think he was even crazier than they already did. No it was better that he keep the whole Rodney ascending thing to himself, besides nobody would actually believe that one Dr. Rodney McKay could really ascend, hell he was having a hard time believing it himself and he'd seen the man.

* * *

Rodney stood in a corner of the infirmary watching John talk with Kate, Carson, and Elizabeth. He knew it was going to take some time but John along with the others would eventually get over losing him. 

"And here we were thinking that Daniel Jackson had been a handful, he at least he had the decency to wait a few months before interfering in the lives of his friends." A voice coming from behind him caused Rodney to turn his head away from his friends and look behind him.

"Well what was I supposed to do, let him die?" Rodney turned all the way around to stare at the one that called himself Janus.

"No you did the right thing. John Sheppard is far too valuable and important to the future of humanity to die before his time, that is the only reason we did not stop you from going to him. We knew if anyone could make him see past his grief it would be you."

"It's hard you know, having all this power but not being able to really use it. I just wish I could be with my friends again and let them know that every things gonna be ok. That there was a reason for all of this, even if I'm not quite sure what that reason is myself."

"Yes it is hard sometimes, knowing you have the power to stop something like the Wraith, but choosing not to." Janus placed a comforting hand on Rodney's shoulder. "As for your friends do not worry about them, they will move on in time and who knows maybe you will be reunited with them sooner than you think." Rodney smiled gratefully. He really did wish John and the others all the happiness in the universe, and began looking forward to the day when they would meet again. "Now come there is still much for you to learn."

"Yeah, yeah I'm coming, I'm coming. You know for being such an advanced and enlightened race you people sure don't have a lot of patients." Rodney's lips curved up into a small smirk.

"Yes well nobodies perfect." Janus laughed as the two walked away from the infirmary.

* * *

A/N: Well there's ending number two. If I'm honest I kind of like this ending better, but to each their own. 


End file.
